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I am discharged from the hospital with nothing but a pair of crutches to my name. That's how I feel. I have a husband and three children and yet, I still don't have a single memory of them. I search the deepest darkest depth of my mind and all I find is darkness. I have long term memories, I remember that my Mom was an alcoholic bitch– we didn't get along.
We pull up across the road from Central Park. Elliot helps me out of the car, my crutches under my arms as we approach the building. It is like a grand old dame, standing tall and proud. Its brownstone exterior gives it a timeless charm that fits perfectly with the surrounding cityscape. The windows, framed by intricate mouldings, offer a glimpse into a world of elegance and sophistication. Is this my world? Can you imagine the views from those windows? The lush greenery of Central Park, the bustling city streets, and the vibrant energy of New York city are all right at my doorstep. It is truly a dream location, and I'm not sure how it is ours, but it is.
"This place–" I gasp, slowly climbing the stairs.
"You insisted we buy a bigger home after Serena was born," Elliot explains as he opens the door, warmth engulfing me as we walk into our home.
"It's beautiful," I smile, hobbling in. I am still getting used to these crutches, I've never had to use them before– at least I don't think I have.
"Grandma!" A small blonde girl squeals excitedly as she runs towards me, almost knocking me backwards. Elliot manages to stabilise me, his hand dangerously close to my ass.
"Hi," I smile at the little girl, her blonde curls frame her chubby face and she flashes me a gappy smile.
"Olive, I told you to wait," Margaret says, rushing to scoop up the small child. "Sorry," she says, carrying the girl over to the leather couch in the open planned living space.
I walk myself over to them, sitting down too.
"Hi," I say again to the little girl. "Olive? That's almost my name," I smile, twiddling a strand of her hair between my fingers. "She's yours?" I ask Margaret, my youngest child and she nods. "You're beautiful Olive."
"You usually call me Livvie," Olive says, smiling at me. "I am five," she holds up her hand and I gasp.
"You're such a big girl," I grin.
"Do you want a coffee, Liv?" Elliot calls from the kitchen.
"Uhm, yes please," I shout back.
"How are you feeling?" Margaret asks, her hand moving to my thigh. She squeezes it gently and I look at her, deep into her eyes. She looks like me, like a younger me. I've seen myself in the mirror and I don't remember getting older. Margaret is the me I remember.
"Honestly?" I ask, examining her face, "It's all very overwhelming Margo, can I call you that?"
"That IS what you call me," Margo grins. The front door swings open and two young boys walk in, they both look to be in their mid teens.
