It had been a year since then. We had two beautiful twins, a boy and a girl. The little boy looked more like me while the girl looked like (f/n). I got to name the girl and (f/n) named the boy. The girl's name was Rosemary, because it reminded me of how I proposed to (f/n) and the boy was (b/n).
I always looked at them, those twins. They were beautiful. Beautiful like the stars in the sky, or like the beach. It was completely magnificent how gorgeous they were. I couldn't look at them without feeling the tears well up in my eyes. I couldn't help it. My family made me so happy. More happy than anything in the world. How could it not make me happy? They were mine and (f/n)'s own little creations. They resembled me and (f/n) too, by how they would babble at each other. It was adorable. So freaking cute.
I would always tell all of them how much I loved them each, that they were my reason to live, that they were my only inspirations. When (f/n) was still pregnant, I had become so gentle to her, I would help her with anything she needed, I didn't care what it was. I would always be the doctor and I would always tell the nurse to shut up.
When I looked at (f/n), my eyes headed straight for hers and hers would go to mine. She was the whole reason we were here today. The butterfly drawing hung next to the Eiffel Tower painting.
One day, when we were watching the twins begin to pick things up, I looked at (f/n), "I told you they loved you. They love you just as much as I do, (f/n)." I pulled her closer to me, moving her hair back and caressing her cheek with a finger. I kissed her gently, smiling to myself. God, I loved her, I loved her and the twins and life. Life was good. I looked down to her locket, noticing she was holding it tight.