Abby shut the window in Nathalie's room and shivered. It was so cold; but
then she always felt cold nowadays. She stopped by Nathalie's cot and
watched her sleeping for a little while, feeling a yearning for Carter,
like she always did.
"Sleep well, little baby," she whispered and touched Nathalie's cheek. "They'll make you better tomorrow, I promise." Maybe tomorrow was the last time she'd have to see those tiny blue lips and want to cry. Maybe tomorrow everything would be ok. Nothing bad would happen, Susan had promised her. But yet, she couldn't help feel so scared and so confused. Her life was a blur, a mess; and she knew why. She needed him back, but he didn't need her. He was strong enough without her; he could just walk away. If she had tried to walk away, she knew she would stumble and fall before she had even taken three paces. It was like the sense of having so much to lose had weakened her; she wasn't strong anymore and she couldn't get by alone.
She entered her room and looked at the bed; hesitant to get in. It was so big that she felt if she got in, she might easily get lost and she feared falling asleep and dreaming that terrible nightmare again. Everytime she woke up in the middle of the night she turned automatically to Carter's side before remembering he was gone; it was a cruel trick her memory was playing on her.
She was about to get into bed when, without thinking, she knelt in front of it and bowed her head, hands clasped.
"I'm not really the kind of person who prays a lot," she whispered, in a quiet desperate call. "And I know I'm not always good. But Nathalie is only four months and you can't let her die; she hasn't even lived yet. You have to make her better because she's so small; she needs your help. You can't kill her; she's my baby. Maybe I'm not the kind of person who deserves their prayers to be answered, but this is about Nathalie and she has never done anything wrong. If you could just let her get well again - please?" She paused and swallowed, trying to force away the lump in her throat; she needed to finish what she had started.
"And, Lord, please make John -" she hesitated. Please make him what? Make him love her again? Make him not be so cold? Should she really ask for him to be different? Should she really ask to change his personality? After all, these things have to come from within, but she wanted him to love her so badly -
"Please can you make him - please make him come home. I miss him so much. Amen."
* * *
Carter stared out of the window. The last time he had been kept away from his family he had come so close to falling off the edge. He remembered being so scared that Nathalie would forget him. He remembered wishing Abby had not needed to go away. And now what? Now he had distanced himself from them. He could barely remember his baby daughter, when was the last time he held her? And Abby? Abby was merely a shadow in his mind, and, God, he missed her.
Tomorrow he could really lose his baby daughter. Maybe he had already; maybe he had lost his whole family. What the hell did he think he was doing? He pressed his forehead against the cold window pane and bit his lip.
"Don't kill her," he muttered out into the sky. "Don't you dare kill her." He punched the wall by the window with his fist and then curled up in a ball on the floor by the window. Nobody was here; no-one could see him. He didn't need the stony mask; he didn't need to pretend to himself and everyone around him that he was strong.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered thousands of apologies to anyone he had ever hurt and a large percentage of his apologies went out to Abby. He hugged himself, as there was no-one else to do it for him, and he cried like he could never stop.
"Sleep well, little baby," she whispered and touched Nathalie's cheek. "They'll make you better tomorrow, I promise." Maybe tomorrow was the last time she'd have to see those tiny blue lips and want to cry. Maybe tomorrow everything would be ok. Nothing bad would happen, Susan had promised her. But yet, she couldn't help feel so scared and so confused. Her life was a blur, a mess; and she knew why. She needed him back, but he didn't need her. He was strong enough without her; he could just walk away. If she had tried to walk away, she knew she would stumble and fall before she had even taken three paces. It was like the sense of having so much to lose had weakened her; she wasn't strong anymore and she couldn't get by alone.
She entered her room and looked at the bed; hesitant to get in. It was so big that she felt if she got in, she might easily get lost and she feared falling asleep and dreaming that terrible nightmare again. Everytime she woke up in the middle of the night she turned automatically to Carter's side before remembering he was gone; it was a cruel trick her memory was playing on her.
She was about to get into bed when, without thinking, she knelt in front of it and bowed her head, hands clasped.
"I'm not really the kind of person who prays a lot," she whispered, in a quiet desperate call. "And I know I'm not always good. But Nathalie is only four months and you can't let her die; she hasn't even lived yet. You have to make her better because she's so small; she needs your help. You can't kill her; she's my baby. Maybe I'm not the kind of person who deserves their prayers to be answered, but this is about Nathalie and she has never done anything wrong. If you could just let her get well again - please?" She paused and swallowed, trying to force away the lump in her throat; she needed to finish what she had started.
"And, Lord, please make John -" she hesitated. Please make him what? Make him love her again? Make him not be so cold? Should she really ask for him to be different? Should she really ask to change his personality? After all, these things have to come from within, but she wanted him to love her so badly -
"Please can you make him - please make him come home. I miss him so much. Amen."
* * *
Carter stared out of the window. The last time he had been kept away from his family he had come so close to falling off the edge. He remembered being so scared that Nathalie would forget him. He remembered wishing Abby had not needed to go away. And now what? Now he had distanced himself from them. He could barely remember his baby daughter, when was the last time he held her? And Abby? Abby was merely a shadow in his mind, and, God, he missed her.
Tomorrow he could really lose his baby daughter. Maybe he had already; maybe he had lost his whole family. What the hell did he think he was doing? He pressed his forehead against the cold window pane and bit his lip.
"Don't kill her," he muttered out into the sky. "Don't you dare kill her." He punched the wall by the window with his fist and then curled up in a ball on the floor by the window. Nobody was here; no-one could see him. He didn't need the stony mask; he didn't need to pretend to himself and everyone around him that he was strong.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered thousands of apologies to anyone he had ever hurt and a large percentage of his apologies went out to Abby. He hugged himself, as there was no-one else to do it for him, and he cried like he could never stop.