No, I know Miguel. I married a man I can confidently recite the biblical history thereof. I know every crevice of his smile lines and the innermost dramas of Alchemax's workplace. I know the secret handshake he shares with our daughter, know the way...
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Rosalina's phone charm by rocklobster0!!
TW: mentions of blood drinking
It's a Monday night when Miguel stays out late, patrolling the city as Spider-Man. If his enemies realise that Miguel is not Miguel (but also is Miguel), then I'm none the wiser.
What I am is keyed-up and anxious, a growing insecurity that swells during cooking, eating and then clearing up after dinner. I can't help but fear that this Miguel will perish, too, and I'll really be left alone to raise my daughter - something I'm frighteningly unsure I'll do a good job of.
Rosalina, again, asks where her dad is. I, again, get struck in the gut and flinch with guilt.
She doesn't like that he's working so much. I don't know what else to say except to apologise. She misses her dad. What more can I do?
We watch a movie she picks out, and the hours in the evening whittle away until it's her bedtime. I plait her hair and keep her company while she brushes her teeth. I tuck her into bed and kiss her on the forehead.
Her big, sad brown eyes grow sadder when I pull away. This would be when Miguel would kiss her on her forehead, too. His absence is sorely noticed.
"I miss dad," Rosalina whispers.
My grief, so well I'd handled it, returns with a blaze of violent glory. My throat chokes up, and tears that come with no warning spill down my cheeks. Rosalina is alarmed, brown eyes widening and mouth opening with shock. She sits up, ruining her perfect duvet tuck that she loves, and wipes my tears away.
"It's okay, mom," she hurriedly placates as she soaks up my tears with her sleeves. "He'll come back."
I shame myself by crying even more. Pulling Rosalina into a hug, I bury my face into her soft hair. She hugs me back just as ferociously, so tightly that I'm briefly stunned by her strength. She holds me so tightly that I fear she's the only thing keeping me together.
"He'll come back," Rosalina whispers into my chest. "He'll come back."
She doesn't even realise what she's saying. She doesn't even know that her words make the pain in my heart all the more worse.
He won't come back. He won't ever come back. But I can't even tell her this, can't confess the reason why I'm a sobbing mess on a Sunday evening. She's confused - but clarity will only serve to hurt her.
I hug Rosalina until I'm calm, and then I hug her some more. I hug her until she falls asleep in my arms, and then I carefully tuck her in and gaze at her dozing face.
She looks so much like her dad. She looks so much like him that it hurts to see.
