𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴

35.

Pierre's P.O.V.

5 months. 

5 difficult, torturous months full of worry, fear and pain.

Genevieve barely ate for the first 2 months, she simply couldn't stomach anything more than water or tea. We knew no peace, her body was growing more and more frail with each day passing by. It took another months for her system to finally accept soft, gentle foods. Her weightless 10 kilograms are now 12 - change that coloured our lives with joy and hope. 

She has nightmares. They are so fucking severe: she doesn't sleep for 7 hours at least; if she gets 4 hours - that's beyond fortunate. She has to have gentle pill for sleep and any sort of soothing tea, otherwise, nightmares simply do not let her rest.

Vivi doesn't leave my side. She simply cannot leave my side: I do not tolerate her being out of my sight and she is not eager to be away from me either. She is mortified for people, especially males - shaking hands, soundlessness, teary eyes. Going any further than her room is beyond rare occasion. 

My small angel is so quiet, too quiet for our liking. Her answers are so brief, so soundless, so watchful. She spend most days in her room in the furtherest from the door corner and does the bare minimum because she is afraid to make any noise: she simply plays with Fuzzy and Fluffy and cuddles Biscuit, who is extremely vigilant of her and barely leaves her side. 

The more days tick by, the more enraged I get. The fucker did it to my child and every single day he suffers more and more for it. That rat Silvester is going through as much hell as that moron. My sons had their part in making bastards pay. 

My daughter is losing her childhood because of 2 monsters. She is terrified of the world and is full of scares, doubts and horrors that no child should ever have. My heart breaks daily, I hate that I cannot take away her terrors and bring my precious, cheery, smily baby back. 

My wife has been so fucking helpful. Bloody hell, Elizabeth is serenity that my boys and I need so much. She is the one, who encouraged Vivi to get out of her room and spend the day in the living room - her first and only walk around the house for now. Genevieve likes to listen to her read for her and tell her stories, even though she doesn't voice that out. 

In spite of anything, we are not going to give up. 

Today is November 1st, 11:20. 

My boys are at the warehouse, my beloved had to go to work today as during those 5 months lots, lots of work gathered and I insisted that she goes with peace of mind: I treasure her care and love immensely, I am very grateful for the love and affection she gives Vivi, but I also know that she has responsibilities that demand her attention. 

Once I made my sweetie her favourite strawberry tea, I went to her, quietly opened the door of her room, feeling my heart shatter as I saw a sight I cannot take easy. 

Pressed into the corner of her beloved, huge room, knees up to her chest. Her small, tiny self is wrapped in her favourite blanket as she is hugging Biscuit tenderly. She is wearing white leggings and pink sweatshirt, along with fluffy, pink socks. Her long, velvety, shiny, dark blonde hair is up in a cute ponytail that Elizabeth made this earlier. Her silky, clear, dewy skin is pale, begs for sunlight. 

"Mon petit papillon, j'ai ton thé préféré."- I said warmly with a smile, crouching down to her level, putting the cup down. (My little butterfly, I have your favourite tea.) 

"Merci, papa."- whispered softly my beautiful baby, her mellifluous voice so damn soundless. 

"Que dirais-tu d'une promenade rapide dans le jardin, ma petite princesse ? Tu aimais notre jardin, tu te souviens ? Il y a tes rosiers préférés, la balançoire, la maison de jeux. On pourrait se promener si tu ne veux pas jouer."- I asked hopefully and gently, gazing at my angel lovingly as she drank tea with so much adoration and gratitude, holding that cup as if it is the biggest treasure of the world. (How about a brisk walk in the garden, my little princess? You used to love our garden, remember? There are your favourite bushes of roses, swing, playhouse. We could just walk around if you don't want to play.)