He was her solace, her saving soul. He was the one thing that let her know she wasn't alone in this. And now, he's gone. Leaving her so suddenly, so quickly, so unexpectedly that his loss still lingers, still whispers harsh.
These times, so early in the morning when she can't sleep, and it makes her remember even more that she's alone now, is when she thinks of him most.
Ava is asleep in the other room, and she's beautiful. Incredibly smart and resourceful, witty, so quick on her feet, and she's merely 4. She can't even remember how many times she's been told that she is a little Olivia, a little her. She doesn't see it. She sees her own smile, one she's studied in the mirror for years, one she hated so when she was in the fifth grade and Tommy Mackolvoy told her he loved it, yet she despised Tommy Mackolvoy. She sees her own hair color, and the bouncy little curls she loved to just let free. She sees her own eyes, dark when she's angry or tired, so caramel with so much mocha there, so light and wonderus when she smiles, someone once told her. But she doesn't see herself. And she never has been ever to figure out why. She is all she's ever wanted, and furthermore, all she thought she'd never get.
She feels like she's getting too nostalgic now, so she rolls over, once again attempting sleep yet failing.
She is happy now, she really is. And it's not something she runs around telling people just to get them off her back, this time she's not lying.
But some times are hard. Like now, alone in this bed. Her baby girl makes her so happy, so proud. Yet sometimes, she misses him. That other him. And she can't figure out why. And it makes her feel guilty. He isn't who she should be associating children with, not hers anyway. He was someone she loved, maybe even still loves, but isn't the someone she had a child with. That first him, is the one she had children with. A child with. And she misses him more that she could ever explain, and Ava does too. She knows she does. But with him gone, it just seems to reinforce her love and loss for that other him. That one that was her partner for so damn long it took her years after not only he left, but after she left, to detangle herself from him. Being there, in that precinct, that apartment, drinking that same damn coffee, every day, just didn't help. It made things so much worse. There was so much of him there, so much of them, it provided so much familiarity and comfort, yet it just reminded her of him. Pain lingered on the forefront far too long. He made her feel so much like she wasn't alone in all of that, that she felt like she was drowning when he up and left. Olivia had never relied on anyone, she learned that one early, but on him, she did. Almost completely involuntarily.