Flowers//Elavan

~2~

"She's beautiful, son."

Avan cracks a small, bitter smile and turns around to see a little old man in a wheel chair. His eyes were gray with age and his hair was white as snow but the contentment in his demeanor made him seem like a child. It was as if the man lived a thousand lifetimes but still remained young.

"You've said that everyday, Ernie," he shakes his head in forced and silent laughter. "But thank you."

"Is she your wife?"

Dementia was a cruel host. Ernie has asked him the same question from day to day. He used to be a professor at Harvard and a loving father to his four children. But as the years gone by, he ran out of use to them and dementia ebbed away at him like waves corroding a rock cliff.

"She doesn't remember that at the moment but yes," he nods.

"You're a lucky man."

Truer words could not be spoken. Not everyone was blessed enough to know love like Avan and Liz did. They had a love that wasn't like any other. It was romance at its finest, or at least it used to be.

"Alright, Ernie. Let's get you back upstairs," he patronizingly suggests as he grabbed ahold of the small bars at the back of the old man's wheelchair.

Avan slowly pushed the older patient towards the ramp, all the while trying not to think about Liz. He worked in the same medical arts institute that she was checked in to as a speech therapist for admitted patients and walk-in patients alike. It was big and had several wings for different cases— pediatric therapy on the first floor, home for the aged on the third, and a center for mental health in the middle.

As the wheel chair came to a halt in front of the nurse's station in the third floor, Avan politely bids his goodbye to Ernie and takes his leave. He jogs towards the employee lockers, strip off his scrub suit and changes into civilian clothing. A short scan of the I.D. and he was good to go home. He stopped in front of Liz's room and smiled at how the keyboard he bought for her was spread on her lap as she tickled the keys on them. At least she had an outlet.

He taps on the glass to try and catch her attention. When she looked up, he gives her a warm grin and waves. A wave of confusion washes through her expression and a pang of hurt hit him right in the chest.

She didn't remember him. Why would he expect anything other than confusion?

Avan purses his lips and decides to just turn around and make his way home. Every step felt heavier and exhaustion, physical and emotional, wore away his usually enthusiastic aura.

The entire drive home felt like a fever dream, like it always did since the day he had to confine Liz to that God-forsaken institute. He hated having to be away from her for so long because all he wanted was to bask her in his love, but he knew it was for the best. So he repressed his bitter feelings and deals with the reality of the situation.

The moment he unlocked the door, he was greeted by the sight of a little girl in a yellow house dress sitting cross-legged on the floor. She looked too much like her mother, especially when she looked up to him with her baby blue eyes. Out of all the things she could have worn today, she decided to dress in yellow.

"You're home!" she jumps up and stretches her arms out, gesturing for him to carry her.

Avan smiles at her and lifts her into his arms, slightly grunting at how heavy she was now. His baby girl wasn't much of a baby anymore. She was nearly five now and was a curious little thing.

"Mia, I told you not to wait in the doorway," a hoarse feminine voice exclaims from the other end of the hallway.

"I wanted to say hi to Papa," she pouts at her godmother, using her childish charm to her advantage.