H.

I set my glass down on the table, letting out a slow exhale as I ran my hands over my face. My hands were cold, and my face was dry; lifeless. I didn't dare touch my lips; cracked, and dry - most likely painted with dry blood from the lacking of regard for them, a dull ache and a harsh sting made known from them when I so much as parted them to say a word. It was seven o'clock, and the sky was grey - the night soon to draw in and the clouds never ceasing to fill the sky.

I reached for the bottle of whiskey, filling my second glass far more than I should have, and bringing it to my lips, to take a swig, the swig quickly turning to the downing of the entire glass.

"Daddy?" a small voice sounded from behind me, and I bit my lip, setting the glass down once more to turn around.

"Hey, pretty girl," I smiled weakly, crouching down to meet the height of the little one in front of me, "how was your day?"

"Jenny said I could wait until you got home from work to see you," she told me in a hushed voice, assuming it was later than it was, while playing with the hem of her PJ shirt, "she said I could wait to give you a kiss goodnight."

"Ah," I nodded, glancing around to note the money gone from the table, making it clear the babysitter had left, before holding my arms out, "well give me a kiss and a cuddle then, darling, and then you're off to bed. S'past your bedtime."

She stumbled tiredly into my arms, her small frame enveloped entirely in my larger one as I held her tightly. She buried her head into my chest, before I released her, pressing a kiss to her nose and then her forehead.

"Come on, Evelyn - bed, now," I lifted her onto my hip, gripping her easily in one arm as I took long strides along the hallway, my office shoes tapping against the floor as I headed for her bedroom, pushing the door open. I eyed the scuffed pink walls, once holding a beautiful shade of fuscia - now peeling at the edges and holding a slight tinge of grey, the wall untouched for over three years, when I'd spent days painting it in anticipation for our first-born.

I pulled back the covers of the single bed, gently placing Evie onto the mattress, and tugging the covers back over her, as her head sank back into the pillow.

"Will you read to me, Daddy?" she asked sleepily, and it was no secret she was already close to a deep slumber.

I sighed, "Not tonight, darling. It's already very late past your bedtime.."

"Please," she whined, and I bit my lip.

"Which book, Evie?" I gave in.

"The one with the S's," she told me, and I closed my eyes for a second, knowing what she was referring to.

"There's no point reading things like that to you, darling, you're a bit young," I tried to reason with my little girl, but it was no use. Since she'd first caught me with the book in my hand a few months ago, she'd been desperate for me to read her a few lines nightly. I'd always leave out what wasn't appropriate, and only read her what she had no chance of understanding or absorbing, and though I tried to read her anything but that - she wouldn't budge.

"Please, Daddy, just a few bits," she whined again, and I exhaled, knowing there was no point in arguing. I was exhausted, and I'd give in anyhow.

I stood up from my crouched position beside the bed, walking over to the table above her reach where I'd left the book the night before. I ran my hand over the cover of 'Sense and Sensibility', a sting greeting my eyes as it always did.

I sat back down, on the edge of her bed this time, careful to miss her still-growing feet and legs as I placed the book in my lap, opening to where we'd left off. I almost winced, sure it would be a battle to force the words through my lips.

"I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter in all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both," I read slowly, not daring to look up as I continued through the book, not skipping a beat, and though I was unsure how long I'd been reading by now, I knew she was long asleep, too far under to hear the crack in my voice as I read, "It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."

I stood up quickly, glancing over my shoulder and taking note of my sleeping child as I hovered over Evie momentarily, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead as gentle snores already left her lips, and I pulled her bedroom door shut behind me.

I made my way into the small bathroom, so small I could barely fit into it as I pushed the door shut behind me and locked it, leaning forward against the sink cabinet. My hands gripped the rim of the sink until my knuckles turned white, and I couldn't tear my eyes from my own reflection. It haunted me - I stood here in a black suit and a crisp white shirt, able to call myself a surviving business man, who could now provide for himself and his child - but I still hated what I saw. My hair was cut more appropriately, but the unruly curls still held the wildness they once did, and my eyes green as before - but bloodshot from crying like a fucking weakling day and night, and dull. The bags under my eyes seemed to sink into my face, and my skin held a pallid colour which was almost sickening.

I wished she was here. I wished she was here to wind her arms around my shoulders from behind me, and to tell me how proud she was of me as she peppered the side of my face with kisses, playfully squeal when I touched my tongue to hers, or yelp and jump even further into my arms when I'd pinch her hip.

I stormed back out of the bathroom, and in attempts to ignore the dull, increasing ache I felt in the pit of my stomach, I poured myself another glass of whiskey and downed it. But the drink didn't fill the undeniable void I felt in the pit of my stomach, and it didn't fucking bring her back.

I poured another glass, taking only a sip this time. The last thing my little one needed was her mess of a fucking father stumbling around off his face, though I was already close to that. What she did need, was her mother - that need was something Evie had yet to come to know, but I knew she would one day. One day - soon, even - she'd begin school, and she'd come home with the question, "Daddy, why don't I have a mummy?" and I'd have to provide her with a bloody answer. I always would - whenever I met the chocolate brown eyes of my little girl, I practically melted in her hands - her gaze mirroring the one that had once belonged to my Ana. Her mother, the one she'd never come to know.

The haemorrhage killed her faster than any of us had thought it would. One minute she'd held my hand tightly, pushing herself willingly through the delivery of our baby girl, and the next they were crowding her - cursing each other as a loud beep filled the room and we all knew. I knew from the second they turned to me, and lifted their masks from their mouths and gently tried to push me out of the room, but I wouldn't budge. I couldn't. I was frozen to the spot, my mouth agape as I watched them lay my baby in a cot and lay a cloth over the pale face of my beautiful Ana Grace.

"No!" was all I could scream, my lungs burning as a hot stream of tears rolled down my cheeks as I fought against the wall of bodies standing between me and her, "You've got to help her - she's not - she can't be fucking dead! You've got it all wrong! My Ana is okay, s-s-she's fine, she's-"

"Harry," Liam rushed in front of me, his hands on my chest to push me backwards with little force as I struggled to steady my breathing, a strangled sob leaving my throat as he desperately tried to get through to me, "You're a father now, mate - come on! Your baby is over there fighting for her life, now - you get there and be the fucking dad Ana would want you to be."

And since then, that was all I'd tried to be.The father that Ana Grace Styles would've wanted me to be. I tried to be at least half the man the love of my life, the mother of my child, had deserved me to be. I'd married her at twenty two, straight after college, bought a small house at twenty three and we were expecting at twenty four.

Evie was painfully similar to her; she had her mother's eyes, her mother's smile - and the same untamed curls her mother had.

Three years and a month since I'd kissed the beautiful woman I'd loved since the mere age of eighteen. It was three years and a month since I'd lay in bed with her in my arms, whispering sweet nothings into her ears and made sure she knew how loved she was, and she went into labour. Three years and a month since I'd driven her to the hospital, held her close as she cried out repeatedly at the pain she was feeling, and gripped my hand tightly as I stroked her hair, murmuring directly into her ear about how I wasn't going anywhere, and how well she was doing, and how much I loved my beautiful, beautiful Ana Grace.

Three years and a month since her hand had fell limp in mine, and her face had turned a haunting shade of grey. Three years and a month of merciless nightmares preventing any kind of rest - three years and a month of not even daring to close my eyes, too scared to make the gamble of whether I'd see her lively face in the darkness, or her lifeless one.

I'd done it on my own. I'd brought my Evelyn up to be the best I could, and at the mere age of three, she held every ounce of intelligence she possibly could. The child was my only damn reason for breathing, the only thing that prevented the numbness from burning through my veins entirely. I knew if Ana had been here, the smile she would have as our child skipped along the halls, singing stupid songs she'd learnt from her favourite cartoons, and as she eyed the drawings Evie would do while she waited for me to return from the office, each and every single one stuck onto the refrigerator with some dodgy magnet I'd found at the corner shop.

All I wanted was one more night. That was it - I wish I'd known that she would be taken from me, and maybe if I had known, I'd have held her just a little bit closer that night, and kissed her just a little bit sweeter. She knew I loved her, yes, but maybe I would've gone that extra mile to show her - and all I wanted was one more night to show her - to hold her against my chest tightly and smell the honey and vanilla in her hair, and trace my fingers along the soft skin of her jawline as she slept.

I glanced at the time on the clock, before turning to glance at the bouquet of roses I'd picked up on my way home. I grabbed the book in my hands once more, grabbing the bouquet and heading for the front door, slipping out of it, and locking it behind me. It was only a couple of minutes to walk, and so I was there soon enough, and I trudged over the gravel and onto the grass.

The grass was rather wilted, not much green in sight, and only dimly lit by lampposts nearby. I took slow steps in the direction I knew to head, coming face to face with the stone. I eyed the flowers which already lay in front of it, still fresh as they were only set down yesterday, as the cool night air whipped at my face, and I crouched down in front of the rock.

I brushed the thin layer of dust that had somehow already settled on the stone from yesterday, before dragging my thumb over the jagged surface, smoothing over the gold lettering which I'd spent an unspeakable amount of money on. Nothing was too extravagant for her.

I sat down, laying the flowers on the soil and leaning forward to press a soft kiss on her name, biting back the sting already threatening my eyes.

"Hey, baby," I murmured quietly, the wind loud, but I knew she would hear. "I just put Evie to bed.." I trailed off, a forced chuckle leaving my lips, "Remember why you wanted to call her Evelyn? When we met the nice girl in Paris at the bookstore while you were pregnant with our baby girl.. and you thought she was so inspiring, with her completely over-exaggerated feminist story," I spoke weakly, my eyes not leaving her name printed in front of me. "She was sweet, I know, but I still think calling her Annie would've been nice.. like your name, but not quite as posh, eh? But I guess since she's already the spitting image of you, at least her name should differ, right?" I asked rhetorically, almost as if she'd show up with an answer. I noticed the sky darkening above my head, but chose to ignore it.

"The words on here don't even begin to do you justice, pretty girl," I said honestly, eyeing the stone. It read '.' Her parents had insisted they pick it, but those words were nothing - no engraving could sum up the traits she'd held.

"I brought your favourite again, love," I told her, opening the book in my lap and running a hand quickly through my hair. "I just read some of this to Evie, actually - our girl is far ahead of her time, I'm telling you," I laughed softly, running my thumb smoothly over the page, before preparing to read for the second time that night, "Your favourite here, baby - 'I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter in all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both,'" I read, glancing back up at the stone, and unintentionally recalling the time I'd held Ana on my lap and read her these very words at Hugo's old store, and I mentally cursed myself for not treasuring moments like that with her more, "and my favourite," I bit my lip, as a loud echo of thunder sounded through the graveyard, causing me to jump a little as a sudden downpour began to fall over the area, but I continued reading, "'It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.'" I took my time, though my shirt was now sticking to my skin and I was now beyond soaked.

I ran my hand over the surface of the stone, blowing out a breath, my voice barely a whisper, "Take the pain away, baby. It fucking hurts," I whimpered, eyes desperately watching her engravings, as if they would suddenly shift apart and my Ana would emerge once more, lively and well - to tell me it wasn't true, even after all this time, and that she was okay. That she loved me and she would never leave again. "It won't stop hurting, Ana. It never will."

I fixed my gaze to examine the area surrounding me, the heavy downpour flattening just about every plant around me, though I still didn't budge, my eyes meeting her stone once more.

"You feel that, Ana Grace?" I asked, my lip quivering in the slightest, "It's raining, baby."