Work Text:
—— HOUR ONE ——
He sensed her pains long before she admitted them.
In the early morning when he awoke and saw the way she slept with dark rings below her eyes, hands fisting the ragged sheets and sweat across her neck and back, soaking the thin sleeveless tunic she wore, he knew.
Obi-Wan leaned to kiss Satine’s forehead, lingering his fingers to brush the loose hair from her face. He rose and shut off the panel on the wall that woke him, the obnoxious beeping finally halting. He tried to open the sliding door as silently as possible to avoid waking her. He pulled his robe over his shoulders, toeing on his boots at the door. As Obi-Wan walked from his small home on the cliff side from vaporator to vaporator, he ran the facts through his head for the hundredth -perhaps thousandth- time. This was Satine’s first child, so her labours would be long. Human deliveries could take anywhere from hours to days. For Satine’s sake, he hoped it would be the former.
When the vaporators were shut and needed maintenance made note of, Obi-Wan made his way back home. It was strange to call this Force-forsaken place home, but that was what it was. From the day Satine had joined him in hiding, agreeing to live this modest life as a pair of poor moisture farmers on a desert planet, it had been home. He stomped his boots outside the door to remove as much sand that clung to the leather as he could. Satine hated the amount of sand he tracked inside, and he made a careful habit of avoiding bringing in the offending material. It was the least he could do for his wife.
Satine was his wife, for all intents and purposes. Though their names shared no legal document, he was hers and hers alone, and he promised such til the day he died. He’d sworn to her his love, owed to her since their youth, albeit delayed. Devotion to Satine had never been difficult to Obi-Wan. It was allowing himself to find himself worthy of it’s return which he found difficult to internalize. A piece of him would always fear she’d be up and gone like a ghost in the night, a mirage in the sands tempting a starving man, some horrid trick of the mind. Somewhere amongst it’s twisted sense of humour, fate had spared him this treasure. Perhaps that was why he feared it’s permanence so greatly.
But she was here, and she was carrying their child -but she wouldn’t be for long.
Obi-Wan entered the bedroom, finding Satine still asleep. He leaned on the doorframe, watching her. The early sunlight that seeped through the skylight cast a gentle glow on her soft features. Pregnancy was beautiful on her, the way it had rounded her lithe form with sweeping curves and a perpetual flush to her cheeks and nose she hadn’t had before. She didn’t share his enraptured vision, complaining more and more about her swollen body, difficulty breathing, and aching joints. But to him, she was beautiful.
Obi-Wan glanced warily to the bassinet he’d built, situated near her side of the bed, ready for the day it was occupied. He’d checked it’s stability every morning, needing to reassure himself that some things he made were not destined to fall apart no matter how sturdy. He’d decided he would not be caught unprepared.
“You’re staring,” Satine mumbled from the bed, her eyes pressed closed against the growing sunlight.
“Can you blame me?” He smiled. Satine groaned as she cracked her eyes open, stretching her muscles. “How do you feel?” He asked softly.
“My back hurts,” she rolled her shoulders, using her elbows to push herself into an upright position. Her hands fell to cup the heavy swell. She frowned slightly at the light, “why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked so peaceful,” he answered, choosing not to mention that he was concerned she wouldn’t be sleeping well for a while.
“Help me up,” she reached out her arm, and he took it, assisting her as she swung her legs off the mattress. She stood slowly, hands gripping his forearms. Satine leaned her head against his chest, letting him support her. She bit her lips, and rocked back and forth on her heels, swaying her hips slowly. He studied the way she shifted, the slow cadence marked with discomfort. She hummed, frowning again. “Everything feels… lower,” she told him. Two days ago, she’d mentioned that the baby had ‘dropped’ and she could sometimes feel the rounded head of the child in the cradle of her pelvis when she walked.
“Do you want me to go get Beru?” He asked her. Their distanced neighbour, though occupied with mothering Luke, and even with her own internal turmoil, had offered to be a female companion when Satine delivered, understanding that the couple couldn’t seek medical assistance. The woman had been happy for Satine, though buried her jealousy of Satine’s ability to conceive without trying. Owen hadn’t shared his exact opinion, though he smothered his affinity for the Jedi enough to congratulate them and wish them luck.
Satine shook her head, “No. I don’t think it’s baby day.” She detached herself from his hold, waddling into the ‘fresher. He watched her pull the tunic off her shoulders, tossing the sweat soaked garment aside. From the back, she wasn’t as obviously pregnant, the recent drop of her belly a new difference from the rounded sight he was used to.
“I’m going to get you something to drink,” Obi-Wan told her, leaving to retrieve water. “You need to hydrate.”
“Are you going to Anchorhead today?” Satine called after him through the open doors. She relieved herself with a sigh.
“I think a sandstorm might roll in within the day,” he told her from the kitchen, which was true, though not the only reason. If it was any other weekday, he would have taken the barrels into town to sell the water, but the apprehension that hung thick in the force -like it was holding its breath- left Obi-Wan wary about the idea of leaving his wife alone. He’d been on paternal leave from his butchering job as well, and something just felt different about today.
Satine emerged from the ‘fresher, a clean tunic tied loosely around her body. She took the cup he offered, pacing as she drank.
“My Dear, are you sure…” he folded his arms.
“Mandalorians are partial to water births.” She dodged the question of his concern. “Some believe the act is necessary to commit the child to the waters. A sort of rite of passage -a final bridge- from the Manda to the path of life, a welcome to the clans. I assume I always expected that should I ever have children they would have been born the traditional way. I barely remember my sister’s birth.” She rambled about the custom, choppy with her points, her mind working faster then her mouth could keep up. Perhaps she was attempting to distract him or herself, but he wouldn’t address it. Satine looked at the empty cup in her hands. “Yet on this planet that would be a month’s income just to fill a tub,” she scoffed. She wasn’t wrong. Choices were limited when it came to water on Tatooine, but part of Obi-Wan knew he’d empty every barrel at her feet if she merely asked.
It was perhaps for the best she was much more practical on the aspect of her love. Obi-Wan had found that with the freedom to love her came the next layer of understanding the Jedi abstinence against attachment, this unwavering commitment to her a law in his heart he’d do perhaps anything to uphold and defend. He didn’t know how he would have survived this place without her. He’d grown up surrounded by his family of Jedi, and was accustomed to the comfort and assurance they brought. To have been alone here on Tatooine would have killed him. Perhaps his love for Satine was based on an emotional dependence, but he didn’t care.
Satine reached to start up breakfast, but Obi-Wan shook his head. “Why don’t you sit? It’s my turn anyway.”
Satine gave him a withering look. “I’m pregnant. Not immobile.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m well aware,” he replied. It wasn’t hard to prepare something to feed them both, and Satine gave him a scolding glance when he used the seasonings they saved for special occasions on her serving. He’d gotten her the spices during their second Lifeday on Tatooine, reminiscent of those common with the strongly flavoured Mandalorian cuisine she’d been used to before.
Even with the familiar spices she liked so much, Satine didn’t finish her food, and pushed the remainder of her breakfast round her plate instead. “I’m going to try to get some work done today,” she told him. Her side job as a seamstress brought in a little extra income, and the sewing she did for the taverns of Anchorhead, mending their linens, gave her more time at home anyway.
Obi-Wan stood and rubbed her shoulders, resting his chin upon her head. “We can take today slow.”
“Can we afford to squander leisure time?” She asked.
“We’re going to have to, anyway.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. Everything about her being seemed to glow in the silence of the Force, and the constant thrumming presence of their baby wove harmonies with Satine’s heightened signature.
Satine gave in with a sigh, and eventually took to pacing, saying that being on her feet lessened the ache in her lower back. She would occasionally wince and press her hands against the walls, rub her back, or clench a fist. He didn’t want to know how much pain she hid, the Mandalorian blood running hot in her veins approaching her task battle-ready. He wondered how long it would take her to admit these were not the practice contractions Beru had told them about.
—— HOUR FOUR ——
It took several hours before Obi-Wan heard a small crash. He abandoned the parts he was cleaning to pass time and ran to her. He found Satine standing, a shocked look on her face, with a broken earthenware cup on the floor at her feet and liquid streaming down her legs.
“Satine, Satine it’s alright,” he reached out and embraced her frozen form. She was forcing herself not to shake. “We’re going to be just fine.”
“Ben… Ben, I think my waters just broke,” she admitted.
“Shall I go get Beru?” He asked again.
“Not yet.” Satine shook her head again. “Hours. It’s supposed to take hours.”
Obi-Wan furrowed his brows, and he tried to reason himself into not rushing to get Beru anyway. Everything inside him wanted to flee from this unknown challenge, to get someone who knew more than him.
He walked with her to the bedroom, the sudden anxiety rolling off Satine in waves in the Force. He helped her step out of her soaked trousers, and into something clean.
“Are we really doing this?” She asked, eyes wide, staring into his. If so, these would be the last hours on their own.
“Just breathe, my Dear,” he whispered, touching his forehead to her’s. It was still midmorning. He had no idea how to predict such things.
—— HOUR SIX ——
Obi-Wan drew the comb through her hair, detangling her thick blonde strands. It had grown quite a bit during her pregnancy, rejuvenated after the thinning she’d suffered from the constant stress during the Clone Wars. Satine hummed in appreciation as the comb scraped across her scalp. “That feels so nice,” she said to him.
He took small steps to keep up with her pacing, and when he was satisfied that her hair was good enough, he shoved the comb in the layers of his robes and began separating her locks into three sections. It wasn’t hard to braid her hair. He found repetitive motion of his fingers to be soothing. When he was much younger, he had a habit of fidgeting with his Padawan braid, and was constantly needing to re-braid it -most notably after Satine developed a habit of tugging it to get his attention.
Obi-Wan tied off the end of Satine’s plait with the same band which secured the ponytail she’d had earlier. “Thank you, My Dear,” she smiled through a grimace.
“Are they that bad now?” He asked, reaching out and splaying his hand across the curve of her middle, which was firm under his touch, his fingers sliding past the part in her tunic to touch her skin.
Satine shrugged. “More intense. More frequent.”
He still worried.
—— HOUR SEVEN ——
Satine eventually discarded the tunic, leaving only the loose linen pants she wore and her smallclothes, complaining of the heat. Their bedroom was in the deepest part of their Cliffside home, and provided some relief, but nothing could truly escape the beating of the Tatooine suns.
“I want this baby out.” Satine moaned, “when will it get out?” She sat on the floor, her back against the footboards of their bed, with the excuse that the sandstone floor was the coolest part of the room. The twin shafts of sunlight illuminated the room, and Satine shone with sweat. “Why do people even live on planets like this when there’s so many others?” She bit her lips, taking slow breaths in the minutes her body let her rest. “Who even chooses to have babies in these places?”
“We did, apparently.”
“But Tatooine??? I didn’t even know this place existed until you told me about it. Kriff, we should have done this on Kalevala… there’s this gorgeous cabin up in the hill country. You can see the sea from it. I would have liked to do this there. Do you think it’s still there?”
Obi-Wan had no answer for his wife.
“It’s so horridly hot. Kriff-it, Obi? Why did we have to do Tatooine? Why not a watery planet like Naboo or Kashyyyk?” She groaned again. They both knew the answer, but if Satine could improve her mood even slightly by complaining, she’d take the chance. “Next time you knock me up, I’m not doing this here.”
Next time.
He wasn’t sure what he thought about that.
He chose to focus on the moment instead.
—— HOUR TEN ——
By late afternoon, her pain was expressed vocally, and each and every contraction pulled a strangled groan from her body. He hated it. He hated the sound of her pain. This was the one battle he could not take from her. It was one she must fight on her own, and he was helpless to save her. She migrated back and forth from the floor or the bed, position to position, whatever her body demanded of her. She’d tried to sleep earlier, but found rest to evade her.
Obi-Wan made her tea and brought her water. Anything he thought might help. Though he smiled and gave her encouraging words, he was terrified that he was doing everything wrong.
“I’m going to go get Beru,” he finally decided.
Satine snapped to look at him, panic in her face. She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare kriffing leave me, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
The weight in her words made him freeze.
He looked up at the skylight, where the wind blew sand over the reinforced glass. “If I’m going to go, I need to go soon. The weather is too unpredictable this time of year.” The trip to Owen and Beru’s was an hour by Eopie and an hour back, not to mention however long it would take their neighbour to collect and load whatever she felt she might need.
Satine shook her head. “Don’t leave me, please.”
“Satine, I can’t promise-“
“Dont leave me.”
So he didn’t.
—— HOUR ELEVEN ——
Obi-Wan watched the horizon from the door when he had the time, and held her hand the rest of it. He left at one point to open the vaporators for the night, careful to make sure each filter was protected and out of the wind. They couldn’t waste a single chance to collect condensation, though the risk of damaging a filter was higher during a sandstorm.
When he returned, there was clear relief in Satine’s eyes. He lit the torches in their home, dimming them to keep his wife comfortable. With the storm, the darkness had set in with an unnatural intensity.
For a while, Satine laboured with her hands on the doorframe, but eventually moved to the bed. Twice, he caught her holding her breath. Her face would become redder and her muscles would shake as she clenched.
“You need to breathe, my dear,” he warned, frowning with worry as he monitored the storm he saw blowing in on the horizon. It was as if the planet itself was responding to the couple’s experience.
When the suns began lowering, Satine was still exhausted. She checked herself to the best of her ability every thirty minutes to an hour, trying to get an estimate on her own progress. She tried to teach him how as well, but the former Jedi Master found himself surprisingly embarrassed at such an attempt, though Satine pointed out it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.
When dusk rolled in, Obi-Wan prepared what little food he thought she might be able to keep down, and the two shared the plate while Satine talked to him about all the foods she missed from Mandalore. She beckoned him to sit, and she leaned up against him as the temperature dropped. “My darling Bantha Heater,” she called him, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Her emotional ups and downs were not so easily navigated, and he tried to enjoy the fleeting affection when it was given.
It was a strange lull in her labour as she transitioned, and Obi-Wan tried not to wonder too much about what it meant.
—— HOUR THIRTEEN ——
With the darkness came the storm.
They didn’t even get the gift of sunset before winds were tearing at the cliff side. The two could hear the howling and shrieking of the flying sand as it rolled in. ObiWan had sealed the doors earlier and decided not to mention he’d forgotten to sweep the sand from the door beforehand.
Any chance of getting their neighbours for help was gone. They were stuck inside til the storm broke. Obi-Wan did what he could to trust in the Force.
—— HOUR SIXTEEN ——
“I can’t do this on my back.”
Her voice brought him to attention, and she was clearly between contractions, the calm in the middle of the storms. Satine looked at him with tired eyes, the sweat on her forehead smeared into her hair. The little he knew about childbirth had been gained from curiosity driven searches in the Jedi archives (usually followed by abject horror), and what he’d seen of Padme‘s childbirth, which was still operated by Medical Droids. He didn’t know what to suggest.
“Help me up,” Satine reached out, and guided him to pull her up off the bed. Satine steadied her legs and she stood, holding him with a grip that could break bones. “I want to kneel.”
Satine allowed him to help her down, till she was kneeling on the floor with her arms on the bedside, apparently letting gravity assist her as well. “Kriff, this hurts.”
Obi-Wan frowned, and pressed the base of his palms on her lower hips, trying to help relieve the pressure. Satine situated herself to attempt comfort, and angled her knees close, ankles far apart to best open up her pelvic floor. Obi-Wan tried to reach out, using the force to deepen the effects of his hands in the hollows of her hips, and the immediate relief in Satine’s voice was substantial. She dropped her head down on the bed, taking slow breaths. “That’s good.”
Her moans lessened, and she took to her task with tight lips and a set jaw.
“I’m scared, Obi-Wan.” She whispered. He couldn’t see her face, but kept applying pressure where needed. “What if something goes wrong?”
“We’ll be alright, my Dear,” he assured.
—— HOUR EIGHTEEN ——
She eventually tried to sleep again, though her attempts were futile. Her stoicism was a mantle short worn, and Obi-Wan wondered if it was her true nature or her trust in him that allowed her to show her pain in such a vulnerable way. The Duchess of Mandalore never would have made a sound in response to such agony, but Satine… his wife, was a different picture. She laid against his chest, eyes shut, curled as much as possible on his lap. He may not be able to take her pain, but he’d bear as much of it as he could.
Obi-Wan ran his fingers through the locks that had worked out of her braid, telling the woman pleasant stories between contractions. Occasionally she’d grip his hand and clench her teeth and he’d promptly shut up till she relaxed and he’d pick up where he left off.
She shivered when alone, but complained of heat when clothed. She seemed content to sit with him instead, sprawled on the blankets he’d laid on the floor.
—— HOUR TWENTY ——
Satine soon transitioned into active labour. He knew that well enough.
“I can’t do this, Obi. I can’t!” Satine was too tired to cry, but the intent was still in her words. “Why did we decide to do this?”
“You’re going to be alright, my dear.” He felt like a broken holotape, repeating the same message over and ever again. He also felt this was not the time to remind her that only a few hours before, she was wanting the baby out faster.
“I need to push,” she eventually told him, and he pulled her up to squat with her back on the bed frame.
Something was different now. He didn’t know what, but everything about the way her body was operating and her contractions were hitting her was new. She perched on the floor, trying to keep her legs from shaking. Obi-Wan did what he could to support her. When he looked, a sliver of the baby’s head was visible, and a sick feeling in his stomach combatted the wonder he felt. It was a strange combination, to be sure.
There was blood and amniotic fluid dripping on his hands, which after the third time stopped wiping off on his robes. Satine instructed him where to handle her and he only spoke when spoken to, his wife preferring his comfort given to be contact based rather than verbal.
“Baby’s coming.” Satine suddenly grunted at him.
“I know. You’re doing so well.”
There is nothing as horrible as hearing the woman you love scream.
The way Satine was screaming now was something of his nightmares. She’d always been particularly strong when it came to pain. He’d been there when Qui-Gon had been forced to reset her knee after Obi-Wan had dropped her on Draboon, and Satine hadn’t made a single noise. He’d seen her take a punch. He’d seen her post surgery, with breathing tubes down her throat and a massive incision, and not accept additional painkillers. That was why her screams broke him so badly.
Obi-Wan ripped one of the blankets from the bed in one tug, piling it under her. “I need to push,” she told him again, “they’re coming.”
His hands between her thighs were alarmingly calm, a lifetime of adrenaline rushed battles and training smothering the racing thoughts and terror shaken nerves. It was like a dream, the moments merging and the anxiety he felt blurring reality around this moment. Suddenly the baby was crowning, and he encouraged her as she shouted curses in Mando’a, her contractions making slow progress until Obi-Wan found himself telling her the head was out, and he was staring down at the first sight of his child. His hands cupped the tiny form, and he told Satine that she was so close, just a few more pushes, not long now.
His hands were steady, and he let her bruise his arms as she let her body lead. Satine allowed him to guide their child out, and he helped her deliver one shoulder. After that, everything was rushed.
With a resounding cry, the former Duchess gave everything she had, and suddenly Obi-Wan was catching the baby, and Satine collapsed, releasing the tension in her body to sit with her back against the bedside as he wiped the child’s face and body. Satine’s heavy breaths were the only sound in the room. He stared at the tiny face as his hands worked like second nature.
Hello There.
Unlike the clean babies he’d been handed by the medical droids at Padmé’s delivery, there was blood and fluid and a thick coating of whitish material covering the child’s skin. He let Satine rest and breathe, careful to mind the cord that still connected mother and child. He turned the child to rub its back, steady until a high shriek cut the air.
“We have a son,” Obi-Wan announced quietly, and Satine’s exhausted eyes looked to him, then the baby, and she barely had to raise her arms before he laid the child down on her bare chest, tears he didn’t know he was shedding slipping down his face.
“Hello, beautiful.” Satine’s breath caught as she cradled the wailing baby. She inspected the child with the scrutiny of an artist, and once satisfied, began gushing over him. She recited blessing after blessing in Mando’a, welcoming him from the Manda into house Kryze of clan Kryze, introducing herself and Obi-Wan by full name and titles. The former Jedi did what he could not to raise an eyebrow at her ritual, busying himself with cleaning her and the baby in her arms. “You are Korben Kryze-Kenobi, and we are your buirs.” She whispered in finality, “and we love you, our little Star.”
The child cried in answer, indifferent to her words, but enrapturing the new parents all the same.
Obi-Wan finally noticed the silence. Other than the baby’s wails and Satine’s recovering breathing, the room was quiet. “I think the storm blew over.”
Satine shot him a look of annoyance for interrupting the moment. Then she laughed. A full, joyful laugh that made Obi-Wan smile at her in return. She gave him that smile that made her tired eyes crinkle in all the best ways. “We’re parents,” she told him blankly.
“A terrifying prospect,” he replied, angling her knee to gather the soiled fabric from under her. Satine winced at the movement.
“I need to tie off the cord,” Obi-Wan tried to recall as much medical knowledge he had from the wars, and Satine kept to kissing her son’s tiny face while her husband used sterile suture thread from their meagre Medkit to tourniquet the cord about an inch to the base, then again a few inches further down. With careful hands, he severed the cord with little ceremony.
The baby in her arms continued to express his displeasure at being removed from the comfort of his mother, and Satine tilted her head back, letting out a victorious groan. Obi-Wan disposed of the blankets.
“I still have to push.” Satine glared at the floor, and she rubbed one hand over her swollen body. “I don’t think we’re done,” Satine told him.
“No. You need to deliver the afterbirth.” Obi-Wan remembered, and he knelt again between her legs. Within minutes, her work was done. “What do you want to do with…” he trailed off, holding the wrapped organ with as much hidden disgust as possible.
“We’ll bury it,” Satine replied, and once Obi-Wan set it in a box by the door, she told him, “on Mandalore, it was cooked and given to the mother as a first meal. I never got the appeal,” she grimaced. “I respect the decision, but it’s not for me.”
“I don’t blame you,” he replied with equal distaste. Her culture before her efforts had been one of war, and he could see why such a violent act to bring life into the galaxy was so celebrated. However, Obi-Wan could still respect the battle and see the beauty that surpassed it.
Satine slowly coaxed their son to settle. Obi-Wan looked at her, sitting completely naked on the floor, and he felt something unexpected form in his chest; pride. His beautiful wife had given him a son. What a gift. Nothing outshone him. How could he be anything but strong when their son was so small?
He stared in complete wonder, trying to wrap his head around the fact that himself and Satine had a son . A son.
How was he supposed to know what to do? A boy of his own to love and to raise and someday let go? He screwed it up so badly last time. Would he be a good father? Would he fail him? He couldn’t. Wouldn’t .
Obi-Wan swore in his heart to do better. He’d give Korben everything.
His wife let her own tears fall, not of anything but love.
“Shall we get you off the floor?” He asked gently, and with exhaustion bearing down on her shoulders, Satine nodded. Obi-Wan got down on one knee, and wrapped his arms under his wife’s weak yet incredibly strong body, lifting her and their son. With the weight of his world in his arms, he set her down on the mattress, climbing in to sit behind her.
“You did it,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m so proud of you.”
Against her chest, the baby snuffled with discomfort. His heart swelled with pride again. As if their son had performed some great feat of strength and valour that elevated him above every other billion upon billion of beings ever born.
Obi-Wan found himself still crying. A show of emotion he couldn’t contain. No wonder attachment was dangerous. Is this what every father felt?
Father.
The baby opened his mouth, squirming. Satine stared down, memorising every little detail. The baby scrunched his face when her fingertips brushed over the shock of light ginger hair. “Oh well aren’t you so handsome… just like your daddy,” Satine whispered with a giggle. “My little princling.”
“You’re going to give him the biggest ego,” Obi-Wan chided.
“He looks like you… how could he not?” Satine grinned lazily, post-delivery endorphins flooding her system.
The child nuzzled into his mothers chest. Satine instinctively took one breast in her hand, and angled it to the child’s mouth. It took a few tries, and she brushed the tip of her nipple along the baby’s lips until he caught on.
“Your beard is scratching my shoulder,” Satine pointed out. Obi-Wan lifted his chin from where it rested in the crook of her neck. “If one of my boys is going to give me discomfort, I’m sorry to say but you’ve lost that privilege.”
Obi-Wan hummed in mock offence.
Her face contorted. “That is… strange,” She commented at the new sensation. The baby would gain more appetite over the following days as her milk came in.
They sat together, their family of three, entranced by this new member who’d done little to introduce himself.
“You are so, so loved, my darling boy. So much more than you will ever know,” Satine whispered. As of now, their baby didn’t know, didn’t care, but something inside Obi-Wan knew it would be a promise held for the rest of his life. He would give the worlds to his son.
“I love you, my dear Satine,” he kissed the side of her head as she lazily counted and recounted their sons fingers and toes. He echoed, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.”