Ten months later, it still hurts to think about, my heart slicing right through the center every time I picture his face and remember what we had for that week.
It was only one week. The pain has to subside at one point.
But staring into my own daughter’s eyes brings it all back.
I thought I wanted a piece of Valerian to keep with me always. I thought my daughter would make me look back on our time fondly.
Maybe it’s still too soon. It’s not even been a year.
“I don’t mind taking her for the rest of the evening if you need to rest.”
“Rest? Never heard of it?” I joke, taking my sleeping daughter into my arms.
I hold her close to my chest, feeling that unconditional love again blossom in my heart.
Things are finally starting to piece together. Not one month after starting my own line and publishing articles on how to style the pieces, the photographer from Valerian’s party reached out and offered to help do a photo shoot.
Things blew up out of fucking nowhere. Seven months into my pregnancy, I was signing with companies, collaborating with them.
The day before I went into labor with Hope, my boss had the nerve to reach out and email me, asking if I wanted my job back. April fools wasn’t for another week.
After giving birth to Hope last month, I really should be taking it easy. But between breast feeding and everything else in between, my hands are always itching to touch some fabrics and pin new designs to mannequins. It’s my form of relaxation—working in the studio. I’m lucky to be able to do that, with Mom and Lila always helping out with Hope.
They say it’s no problem. They’re ecstatic for Hope to be the fourth member of our girls’ group.
But no matter how fun life is, the hole in my heart gapes open each night when I eventually hit the pillow.
Even through the night when I’m feeding Hope, I feelhisimaginary presence on the bed with me, rubbing my back as I breast feed, experiencing all of the small moments with me.
Sometimes, to make the nights feel easier, I allow myself to believe the lie. I pretend that he’s with me, and the visions get so real I consider driving all the way to Beverly Hills the next morning to take him back.
But the second the sun rises, life beats me to it. Hope is crying. Her diaper needs changing. She needs her milk.
And then I’m passing her over to either Lila or Mom and doing something for me to keep the cup full.
“Are you okay?” asks Mom, staring at me.
“Yeah. I already told you I’m not tired.”
“Not that,” says Mom, further analyzing my face. “You look sad.”
I pin her a look, feeling the pain wash over me again. “I’m fine.”
“Have you heard from him?”
I clench my jaw. We leave Valerian out of all conversations. I thought about him throughout the pregnancy, but I never brought him up. Lila and Mom have always known better than to do that… until now.
“No.”
“You thought he’d reach out, right?”
I grit my teeth. I was always hoping so in a conflicting kind of way. Then I’d know he was still alive. But I bought a new phone, changed my number and address so hecouldn’treach out.
If he ever got back in touch, I knew I’d crumble.
Things have been quiet recently with the real estate. He posts now and again, nothing of his face, just his accomplishments. At this point, I’m unsure if he’s still running the accounts and leading the Bratva.
Ever since that day on the rooftop, it’s like he took a step back, which is why I have voices in my head telling me to go and check on him.