Page 84 of Perfect Imperfections

Except for the slightest decrease of velocity in which she consumed her ice cream, Charlotte showed no reaction.

“I know you don’t really remember her.”

How could she? Claire had left before their daughter even had the chance to turn one. Children didn’t start developing permanent memory until age three at the earliest. He had given Charlotte a picture of her mother. One she kept in her room on her bookshelf. He never wanted to erase Claire from their lives, but he also hadn’t wanted to give his daughter false hope of her returning. He would have never denied Claire access to their daughter. But they would never have whatever picture-perfect family life society still claimed to be normal.

Who got to say what was normal? Or perfect? Didn’t the differences between people, the mish-mash of joining to create a loving family, whether by blood or choice, make the world a more interesting place? Wasn’t happiness more important than one person’s ideal of what a “family” should be?

“She had blonde hair like me, but her eyes are blue, not green.”

True. Claire had gifted their daughter with her blonde wavy curls. Sullivan’s hair held a bit of rusty tan to it. Not fully blond like his daughter. But she had inherited his eyes. Eyes he’s gotten from his own mother. His mother always laughed about that, joking that she married their father because his last name matched her eyes, proving they were meant to be together. He didn’t know if that held even an ounce of truth, but he knew his parents had loved each other very much and passed that love on to their sons. Too bad he and Claire hadn’t found the same thing.

But they had made Charlotte together, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

“Yes, Angel. That’s right.” He put his spoon down—he hadn’t eaten a bite anyway—and reached across the table to lightly grasp her hand, the one not currently shoveling a scoop of ice cream into her mouth. “You remember how I told you she had to go away because she was sick?”

Her little chin dipped up and down as she nodded. “Yes. You said she needed a special doctor because you couldn’t fix her with your medicine.”

Truth. He hadn’t been the kind of doctor his ex-wife had needed. Or the kind of husband. No matter how angry he was at Claire, he had to admit some of the fault lay with him. If he’d been there for her more or noticed her struggles sooner… but none of that mattered anymore. There was no way to go back and change the past, and even if he could, he knew now that no matter what, he and Claire never would have lasted. They’d both been too stubborn to ask for help. How could you make a lasting life with a person if you didn’t trust them with your vulnerabilities?

“Yes, Angel. She needed a special doctor.” One she’d found, it seemed.

“So,” Charlotte put down her spoon, fiddling with the napkin left on the table from dinner. “Does that mean she’s coming back?”

Fuck! The air squeezed out of his lungs. It felt like a trash compactor was pressing on his chest, wringing the very essence of life from his body. He closed his eyes against the moisture gathering in them.

“No, Charlotte. She’s not coming home.”

“Oh good.”

Good? What the hell? He opened his eyes to see Charlotte smiling up at him.

“Maddie Johnson’s daddy went away, but then he came back, and her mommy had to stop seeing her boyfriend.” She grimaced, tilting her head the way she did when she was thinking through her big spelling words. “It’d be okay if mommy came home, but I don’t want Ellie to go away.”

That’s what she was worried about? That if her mother came home, he’d stop seeing Ellie? If only it was something as simple as that. Something he could assure her would never happen. Rising from his chair, he came over to kneel in front of her, still clasping her hand in his.

“Charlotte, mommy isn’t ever going to come home.”

Her smile fell, understanding sinking in. “The doctors couldn’t fix her?”

They could, they did, apparently. But death still decided to take its pound of flesh.

“She had an accident. A car accident. She…she didn’t make it, Angel.”

Charlotte was the daughter of a doctor. While he never discussed his work or patients’ problems at home, she knew he treated sick people and sometimes they died.

“Is…is she still my mommy?”

“She’ll always be your mommy, no matter what.”

He crouched there as still as he could, watching his daughter. Seeing the thoughts and emotions process over her young face. He didn’t move a muscle, but inside he was being ripped apart by anger, guilt, and sorrow. A churning mess destroying everything in his mind’s path. He locked it all away, refusing to let it show, knowing he needed to be strong for Charlotte. To take care of her.

She nodded her head, looking far too grown up for her eight years. “That’s good.”

She was taking this far better than he expected. Then again, his daughter had never really known her mother. Hard to miss someone you never knew. He assumed there would probably be issues later in life as Charlotte grew up. Things to process and discuss. He should probably call the school on Monday and inform her teachers and the school counselor just in case she needed to talk to a licensed professional. He knew a few excellent child psychologists himself. Perhaps he’d email a few and get their take on the situation.

All he wanted was to make sure his baby was going to be okay. That’s all Sullivan ever wanted. To take care of the ones he loved. Yeah, he might overdo it. The phrase “Mother Hen” had been muttered under Gavin’s breath a few times. Also “asshole” but that had been when he was his brother’s guardian, enforcing strict curfew and homework rules.

“Are you okay?” He wanted to make one hundred percent sure his daughter was handling this news well, processing it as much as an eight-year-old could.

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