Another oneshot, which might turn into a WIP. I'll keep it here for now and see if you guys like it. Sorry for more angst – I seem to be in a depressing mood recently! Reviews very very much welcome!
A
The only time she'd let herself remember would be after the bad days. Days when they'd driven too long without a proper night's rest, a decent meal, a shower. Then, and only then, would Kate pull off the highway and take the backstreets to a motel where they'd sign in late and leave early, and always under a different name. She'd ask for the cheapest single room, and there she and her daughter would share the bed, taking comfort in the other body cuddled so close. In the darkness each would fall into dreamless sleep; the unconscious blessing as they paused in their endless journey to nowhere.
It was on those mornings, in tiny motel rooms where you could still hear the hum of traffic on a highway close by, when Kate would dream. When she would wake in a bed and see her beautiful daughter curled up next to her, the daughter that reminded her of the choice she made subconsciously every day. Kate would stroke Abigail's chocolate curls, watch her sleep, and realise that in a few moments she would have to rouse her child from that peaceful slumber and take her back to the car, back to another road.
On those pale mornings it was easy to imagine herself waking Abby, help her dress and feed her breakfast – bacon and eggs and toast – and walk her three blocks to her nursery… In her mind they would always walk, slowly, hand in hand in the open air. At the gates Kate would kiss her daughter goodbye and watch her until she disappeared inside.
Kate's dream would stop there. She would never turn and walk home or be greeted by Abigail's father. In the time since they'd left the island a mental barrier had formed inside her head. She refused to allow herself thoughts of him, thoughts of what might have been. But on those mornings when she watched Abby sleep next to her, the day slipping slowly above the horizon, she would let herself crack. His face always came clear in her mind. She would feel his touch on her skin, hear his voice say her name.
She'd not seen him once in five years. She told herself that she would have, had she only had an address. But as the weak light crept through another dirty window, Kate would see her daughter, and let herself think of Jack, and of the choice she'd made. Jack had never seen his beautiful daughter. He didn't know that they had a child.
On pale mornings Abigail would wake to hear her mommy crying. She'd roll over, and take Kate's hand, as children do when they sense pain, and ask the question again.
"No, Abby," Kate would always answer, "We can't see daddy today."