valentina
"happy birthday," she whispers.
her eyes are trained on lincoln's grave, and she watches as caroline's shaky hands set the carrot cake on the grass by his tombstone. she shoves her hands deeper into her pockets, zips her jacket up higher to fight against february's frost.
valentina curls her finger around a band, his, the one she pulled from his... body, after his death. she places it next to the dessert, rests her forehead against the cool granite. her own wedding ring sits heavily in her wallet. "i'll be with you, always, but it's time for me to move on. i can't keep blaming you or myself or anyone else for what happened. i only have our memories, but they're enough. i just... hope that you don't hate me... for not being able to do more, or for being too pushy. i wish you were here. i... i love you."
"he doesn't blame you," caroline whispers, and valentina feels the tight squeeze on her shoulder. "he could never blame you."
she swears that lincoln is with her, the sense that another hand resting on her other shoulder making her shudder. she smiles a little, runs her fingers across the letters of his name. "i know that now."
