I know it`s her before she`s fully in view.

　　It was in how the wind caught her hair as she crests the apex of the bridge; turning and twisting in a familiar chaos before she brushes it away from her face, and I see her.

　　She hasn`t noticed that I am there. I`m a solitary observer of her approach as her eyes are elsewhere; watching the river, catching glances with passersby and trading acknowledging smiles and head nods. But then she sees me, and our eyes connect. She is smiling, and I feel that I am smiling, too.

　　It goes deeper than that, though. The smile, the joy that`s shared between us. There`s something deeply personal that`s shared in the space between us. I can feel a quick constriction in my throat; a tightening and a dryness about my eyes. I want to look away and have a moment to compose myself, but I also want to share this sense of feeling and emotion with her so that she knows my love without having to say it.

　　She is almost to me.

　　She`ll reach for me, and I`ll reach for her.

　　The wind catches her hair.

　　I reach out to brush it away so I can see her eyes, but before I touch her, I`m awake.

　　And I`m alone.

　　Rolling over, I look at the alarm, and it`s only three. The night weighs heavy. I`m awake and I feel awake, but I know I should go back to sleep.

　　The stars are out. Looking through an exposed slit in our blinds, I can see their tiny pinpricks of light.

　　It`s enough light to illuminate a single strand of red hair laying on what was her pillow. The red hue has faded to a dull orange that barely registers. Its sheen has gone. I can feel how brittle it is as I hold it between my fingers, pulling it straight, turning it to catch a bit of starlight; a reminder of her presence in the house.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

　　She`s there in her dresser, the clothes in her closet, her side of the bathroom sink, and in every crevice of the house as follicles and particles.

　　I see her on the bridge.

　　The wind catches her hair.

　　She would say that it`s too windy; that the wind is annoying.

　　But I want to be that wind.

　　The strand of hair snaps, and I let it drift down onto the sheets so that it can be found again on an equally lonely morning.

　　I can hear unintelligible moaning coming from Eleanor`s room. As I gather up some scraps of empathy, the moans turn into sad little sobs, and I stumble from my bed, down the hall, and into her room.

　　"Did you have a bad dream?" I ask her gently.

　　Her eyes are wet and when she sees me she screams, "Get out! Get out!"

　　But she`s only five, so I don`t leave, and I ask, "Do you not feel good?"

　　"Get out!" she screams again.

　　I try a different approach. "Did you get hurt?"

　　"Get out!"

　　And another. "Does your belly hurt?"

　　"Get out!"

　　I kneel down, so that I`m at her level. "I want to help you. Can you tell me what`s wrong?"

　　Through the whimpers, the blubbering, and the tears, she says, "I want Mommy."

　　And I`m silent.

　　She knows. I know she knows. She was there. We said goodbye. We talked about heaven and a better place and angels.

　　"Baby," I say, but pause unsure of what to say next. Then quietly add, "Mommy`s not here."

　　"I want Mommy!" she yells, sitting defiantly on her bed. "Mommy-mommy-mommy-mommy!"

　　"Mommy`s not here. Remember?"

　　She has slid to the floor now. I reach for her, but she kicks at me. I try to pull her into a hug, but she slaps my hands away, using her feet to push herself further away, still repeating the screaming mantra of mommy-mommy-mommy.

　　"Do you want to come sleep in my room?" I ask.

　　"Mommy-mommy-mommy-mommy!" Each syllable is punctuated by her feet pounding at the floor.

　　I feel helpless. I sit on the floor some distance away, leaning my head against the wall, thinking about how I`d rather be sleeping.

　　I`m not sure how much time has passed. She isn`t screaming or speaking, but she is still crying. I reach for her again to lift her back into bed and things intensify again, so I get up and leave her room, shutting her door, then shutting my door, laying back down in my bed, and within seconds I`m asleep.