Bernie had promised she'd be there for her. Serena had barely acknowledged it, spending her time sitting at Elinor's bedside, waiting for her to wake up. Days lost their meaning, blurred into oblivion. If you'd asked Serena what she remembered of that time, she'd say almost nothing. Just the rise and fall of her daughter's chest as she lay in the hospital bed. They never found the perpetrator, the reckless driver who had knocked a 20 year old over and left her in the street. Left her to the mercy of daytime traffic. It had made Serena fearful of driving her own car, Bernie playing chauffeur for the first month. Looking back on it, she'd taken Bernie's presence for granted, almost forgotten her in the rush to focus on her daughter when she did wake up. Patient and loyal and undeserving of Serena's neglect. It had plagued her for so long when she finally did give it some thought. She'd brushed it aside for so long that when she was finally left on her own, when Bernie had walked out of her life, there was nothing left but to go over everything they'd ever had together. All the nudges and smiles and words of encouragement back in the early days. The tentative courtship, fragile as an eggshell, the subsequent flurry of angst and confusing heartache punctuated by moments of utter bliss after Kiev and the overwhelming needs of their families that ensued after. There was always something else that needed to be done. Serena realised far too late that she hadn't prioritised time for Bernie. Just the two of them. And Bernie had been waiting, patiently for Serena to get to that conclusion. But in the end, she'd had to salute her and go before Serena was ready to get to that point.
Now Serena felt like she was ready. But it was too late by then. Bernie had gone.