Allow me to take a few moments to tell you about Kate. She was an elfinly-pretty woman, both smart and talented. She married very young, and to a much older man. Not long after their cool plunge into hasty marriage they had a son they called Duncan. Her husband, Bob, loved her for making him feel young again in spite of his advanced years. He and Duncan spent many hours playing chess together, looking at the stars and swimming in the backyard. Kate busied herself in med school. She was whipsmart and in spite of her love for Bob, she was well-aware that he wouldn’t be around to support her forever.
As she climbed the career ladder, Bob declined into his elder years. Kate would often rush home from a night shift at the hospital to help her ailing, aging husband. Not long after she was promoted to chief resident, Bob died. Both Kate and Duncan were grief-stricken, yet there was nothing they could do besides carry on. More fortunate than many families who lose a husband and father, Kate and Duncan had the house and a nice chunk of insurance money to blunt life’s rougher edges. They carried on that way for awhile, until Kate met Simon at work.
Simon was a graduate of the prestigious medical school at the University of Edinburgh. He had a one-year fellowship in the surgical department of the hospital where Kate practiced. One look at her large grey eyes and he knew he would finagle to stay in her orbit forever. He passed the Duncan test with flying colours and six months later they were married.
Many people fail to have luck with one hasty marriage. The fact that Kate had fallen happily into two equally perfect unions was not lost on her. But there was a dark cloud in her wedded bliss the second time around. Simon was a Scotsman from a large family who wanted an equally large brood. A year into the marriage, Marah was born. Her name was Kate’s little joke–it means “bitter” in Hebrew–and Kate was definitely bitter about that pregnancy. But she found having a daughter to be such a joy that she didn’t complain at the birth of Galadriel a year later. (People remarked on that name often. It was due to Simon’s fanciful Scottish poet’s streak). Three years later, Simon finally got his boy, who he promptly named Wallace. Is there another, more fitting name for the son of a Scot?
The family grew, and grew happily. Shortly before she turned 45, Kate had what is politely known as a “change of life” baby. Some people also call them surprises or accidents. Ceddryn was neither, although her redhead and her temper made her true handful for two people trying to slow down a bit.
The problem is this. Now all the kids are grown and have kids of their own. Some of those kids have kids. And yet I can’t bear to kill off Kate and Simon. I’m attached to them. It was hard enough to let Bob die, but I knew he had to go quickly. The point was for Kate to be widowed as soon as possible, to see how she coped with Duncan on her own. But now I just want to move Kate & Simon out of their house and back into the “Families” bin where they can quietly sit in their grey-haired happiness forever and ever.
I hate Sims 2 sometimes.
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