August 1966
She leaned forward, carefully reapplying her lipstick in the mirror. A quick dusting of powder over her face, and she leaned back again, smiling as she took in her polished appearance. Reaching up to tuck a strand of hair back into shape, she glanced around the room behind her through the mirror.
She straightened the seam on her stocking and then stood up, nearly crossing the room entirely before doubling back to snatch a necklace and photograph from atop her vanity, clutching them tightly in her hands as she quickly stepped down the stairs to the first floor of the house.
She stood in the centre of the entry hall, looking around at all the rooms that branched off it. If she leaned forward to one way or the other, she could see the letter lying on the dining room table or the pictures missing from the sitting room. She blinked hard and turned away, stepping across the room to the sidetable where her hat and gloves lay neatly atop her clutch.
She carefully settled the hat atop her hair, tilting it forward and securing it with the silver pin she had been given once. She looked into the circular mirror, but she didn't truly see anything - her eyes too bright to see beyond the film that settled on them. It was for the best, she reminded herself as she paused to let her shaking hands still.
She could hear the taxi cab pull up in front of their house, and she pulled her gloves quickly before reaching for the coat that lay over the suitcases lined up before the door. She had buttoned it up over her dress just as the driver knocked on the door. She hesitated before opening it, but soon directed the man to carry the luggage out and stow it in the boot while she fetched the last few things.
She absently reached for her clutch as she looked up the stairs before her. This was it. All was packed and ready, and all that was left now was to close the door behind her. There would be nothing left for her to return to after this - nothing familiar. She could neither return to or stay with her family, and soon it would make no difference.
She sighed, slowly stepping backward toward the door as she heard the driver shut the boot. All the stress and fear through the years would become useful now - would serve as a protection more so than ever. Perhaps it was cruel, to use what she had learnt against the teacher - but she knew that he would never be objective enough to find her again.
Her hand rested on the doorknob, and she let her eyes close, leaning back on her heels. He would never understand this - never begin to guess, and she would never be able to tell her. Certainly, he would understand her disease, but he would never understand why she had to leave. He was a child - a little boy reaching for his mother's hand whenever anything went wrong. He would reach for her, but she wouldn't be there this time - never would be again.
There was something different about it, about seeing it for yourself rather than through the eyes of other. He could imagine it certainly, and would encountre it again - but dealing with it through her? It would kill him.
She grit her teeth together for a moment and then lifted her hand to carefully absorb the tears gathering on her lashes before they fell. Glancing up the stairs and into the dining room one last time, she turned and walked out the door, letting it shut behind her.
She was losing everything this time - leaving it all behind of her own free will. It would be different - she would be alone until the very end, dying in some nondescript room under the care of nurses with many other charges. She could not even return to the country of her birth, because even he would not be so blinded as to never check there. He would fear for her, and he would come to hate her - hate her for doing what she had promised to never do.
Perhaps he would forgive her one day - perhaps one day another would have the strength to stay with him. She was not so blind as to assume he would allow it - but she prayed another would come before it was too late. Before he was left alone again.
The taxi slowly pulled away from the curb heading towards the train station, and she never looked back.
AN: Abigail leaves Henry and Abe. Inspired by one of my stories where either Henry or Abe (I think it was Abe...) muses on how hard it must have been for her to leave - how many times she looked back. My opinion? She didn't. She was a strong woman to stay with Henry through all he felt he had to do, and once she set her mind to do something it would be done. It would have been like killing herself, certainly; but if she had looked back then she would have turned back. As long as you never give in, you are strong - once you look back you begin to break. 10-3-2015