In the hotel room, Victoria was pulling petals off a large bunch of roses.
For every petal she snatched, she uttered a sentence.
"Do I like him?"
"Do I not like him?"
"Like him?"
"Not like..."
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Hank Clegg came in with the two babies.
"Mommy, what are you doing, playing with petals?" one of the keen-eyed babies asked instantly.
In a hurry, Victoria picked up all the petals and tossed them into the trash can, accidentally pricking her hand and recoiling in pain.
"Hurt yourself?" Hank Clegg noticed right away.
He quickly came forward, took a seat next to Victoria, held her pricked finger, and put it in his mouth.
Ah, the babies were awe-inspired by Uncle Hank's tenderness.
"Does it still hurt?" Hank Clegg asked Victoria, gently squeezing her hand, expressing his concern.
"It's just a small injury." Victoria lowered her head; with the babies around, she felt somewhat embarrassed.
