heartbreakers
It had been two years since she left. Left him.
She couldn't get him off her mind. In a feeble attempt to somehow forget her feelings for him, she married another, completely unrelated, different man. He worked in marketing for a well-off global telecommunications company, originally from Michigan, or so he said, called Logan Rosenfeld. He had seemed to live a simple, normal, life, the kind of simple life she had longed for since him. Above all else, above a romance, a relationship, she'd wanted a family, and she felt like he could provide for them.She wasn't looking for love anymore; she knew she could never love like she'd loved him again. She had met him in a bar one night. He had proposed to her very early in their relationship, but out of impulse, she said yes. Her impulse of course, was to forget about him. Although she hated to even think about it, she couldn't function without him. She constantly thought about why she had done this. Why she had left him. He was a hopeless romantic, but it reminded her of him and she liked it. She didn't love him, though. She couldn't love anyone as much as she loved him.
They had had a daughter. They called her Isla Eve Rosenfeld. It was partially because of him. Not once did she ever forget about it. He always had liked short names for a daughter.
She loved her daughter with everything she had in her heart but she still didn't love her husband. It was all too late before she finally came to terms with that.
He wasan alcoholic. Years of alcohol abuse had left his cheeks rosy and his mind dull-witted. He knew, that drying out would be a painful process and he had no intention of ever going through with it. He wanted to stay drunk until he died. Being around him when he was intoxicated was like waiting for a bomb to go off. The bottle was his only friend and it didn't improve his temper. He forgot about her, his daughter, neglected her. She'd have to stop working so that she could take care of their daughter because he seemed to forget about her existence. His addiction to the bottle was such that he cared for nothing else. He stopped talking to her about everything, until each sat in bed at night, completely separated from each other. He never had a day sober, if he could help it. He spent more time at a bar than at home, at home with his wife and his daughter. She'd tried to stop him, force him to figure it out himself, that all this alcohol wasn't making anything better. She'd tried to get him help but he always had the sensation for more. She'd undertaken everything, excised every option she possibly could, before she left him, too. It had appeared like he had completely forgotten about her, so why would anything she did to get away from him break his heart?
In all honesty, she'd put up with this behaviour from her husband for longer than she should. Wherever she decided to go, she couldn't stay with her husband. Not after what he'd done. However much she wanted to believe that he could change, she knew he couldn't, not voluntarily, she knew that he wouldn't change for her, and she had enough of constantly being undermined by him.
She packed up her 18-month-old daughter's belongings in one of his old gym bags, because it was all she could get her hands on and she was desperate. He wouldn't be home for a while so she had time to pack up the car and leave him a note. She grabbed all her stuff and all of Isla's stuff, including all the parts of the crib and her toys and blankets, and shoved it in a frenzy into the back of her silver car. She cradled Isla and picked her up, hoping she would never remember this moment, hoping that her father would never come looking for her, so that she'd never have to even begin to explain the reckless, brainless moron that she'd married; so that she'd never have to explain why her daddy suddenly reappeared because it just took him that long to realise that his drunken habits were not to be mingled with their infant daughter. She hushed her to sleep in her arms and she delicately placed her in the car seat, keeping a close eye on her as the pulled out of the driveway. She yearned for him. She only hoped that he hadn't moved on as easily as she did.
She wondered, what happened to all that sanctimonious talk about putting her first? Putting her and her daughter first? He wasn't always like that. She couldn't seem to figure out what had triggered her husband to take to the bottle to relieve his pain, dip back into his alcoholism.
Gazing straight ahead, only half-aware of a world outside the oddly claustrophobic comfort of the car, the soundless change of the gears, the pattern of traffic lights, the occasional gurgle or whine from her infant daughter in the back. The car engine sung to the lone roads, and she relished the roaring, crisp Chicago winds as she drove to the Firehouse, hoping he was still on shift. Hoping that she'd finally be able to marvel at his appearance again, feel his skin, feel his toned body and muscle, feel the heat of his body against hers, feel the calming tone of his voice, feel him. Take in all of him.
She didn't know how the rest of her former friends had reacted to her disappearance and now her sudden reappearance. She parked up across the road and took Isla out of her car seat and put her coat on. She peeked through the door of the Firehouse, seeing the familiar faces of Sylvie Brett, Kelly Severide, Christopher Herrmann, him… she was extremely relieved that it was them, that they were the ones working tonight. She walked in with Isla in her arms. Isla looked the spitting image of her; they looked so much like twins, aside from the age difference, and the resemblance was uncanny. They weren't spotted by anyone for a while; she just stood there, hoping to be recognised. Even though she usually enjoyed the cold, enjoyed the bliss that the fresh, crisp air brought, tonight, she wasn't herself. She'd just taken her infant daughter from her home and vowed never to go back to her husband It was getting rather cold outside and she envied the warmth and radiance inside. Until now, she didn't realise how much she'd missed that. She missed all their happy faces, how they were all a family, they could share everything with each other, that everyone had each other's backs, but above all, she missed him. She felt so naïve for not being able to make that connection until now; that no matter how many people she tried to forget about him with, it was impossible. And now, now she had Isla, and she'd never be able to forget her former husband, because she loved Isla, and she couldn't forget Isla's father. She knew Isla and knew that in some point in her life, she'd ask where daddy was. She debated taking precautionary and desperate measures as to make sure he could never see Isla, even if he sobered up, but after more thought, realised, hey, he's never going to sober up, so there's no problem there.
If her and Isla were safe, she was okay. She needed a place to stay, and she needed him. She didn't know if he would be so willing, seeing as how they left things weren't exactly great. But, they were in love, and it was real. Once she left, she still loved him. When she married her husband, she still loved him. She prayed he didn't forget that. It was all worth a shot, because, she was desperate. She was so desperate.
She walked into the apparatus floor with confidence, catching the attention of the firefighters at the Squad 3 table, and him.
"Hi guys…I'm back." She smiled, glancing over at him, seeing a feeble grin spread across his face also.
