Chapter 11
AVA - TRYING TO REWRITE THE ENDING
The first glass of wine didn't help.
Neither did the second glass. Or the third.
But we kept pouring anyway.
We sat on the worn old couch in our shared apartment, the kind that sagged in the middle and still had a red wine stain from Remi’s birthday last year.
My bare feet were tucked under a blanket; my cardigan tossed somewhere behind me.
My hair was piled in a mop of a bun with the scrunchie I had found on the couch.
The TV flickered with something meaningless in the background. I couldn’t even tell you what.
Remi didn’t say much. She never did at first. She just handed me the corkscrew, then sat beside me, quiet and steady.
She was wearing one of her favourite sundresses, which she said didn't have a season because you could layer it.
.. and then looked at me as if she were saying, obviously.
Did I think she was crazy for wearing a dress in December? Yes. Would I tell her that? No.
And she really did have the knack of layering sweaters. Her long frame would handle a flowy skirt and chunky sweater; mine could not.
I took her in for a moment, about who she had evolved into since we left home. Remi was what people would call a lighthouse, and she was terrific at being that for anyone and everyone. But she made me worry sometimes, because who guides the lighthouse home when it gets lost?
I pushed that cheerful thought away and dove right in.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” I said finally. “And not even in a dramatic way. Just in the slow, hopeless way. Like I’m treading water in a system built to let people like Sofia die.”
Remi sipped her wine. “I know.”
“She was doing everything right. She got out. She went to therapy. She believed us when we said she deserved better.”
“You helped her believe that” Remi said softly.
“Then what the hell was the point? She still ended up...” My throat closed. I couldn’t say it. I still couldn't get the words out. “I don’t know how you keep doing this.”
Remi’s gaze flicked toward me, then away. “Because it matters, Ava. Even when it ends like this. Maybe especially then.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “I’m tired of this kind of mattering. I’m tired of planning safety plans that don’t keep anyone safe. Of watching the bad guys smile at funerals like they didn’t crush someone’s windpipe with their fucking hands.”
Remi didn’t flinch. She never did.
“I know,” she said again. “But we’re not done fighting. We just have to fight smarter.”
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the fire climbing up my throat.
“Do you ever think about giving up?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah... no... I don't know,” she said finally. “Maybe once, I did. But not today. Not anymore.”
We sat in silence again. The kind that meant something. I reached for the wine, poured another glass, then shoved it into her hand.
“Misery loves company.”
“I’m not miserable,” she said with a slight smirk.
I gave her a look. That look.
“I’m not,” she said. “I’m just... tired. And trying not to lose sight of what we’re building. Like if I slow down or stop, I will lose the big picture.”
Her words settled like ash.
I nodded to the wall across from us. It was covered in sticky notes and flyers. Crisis numbers. Shelters. Reminders. A dream we’d built on top of our trauma, like scaffolding.
“Do you think we’ll ever get our happily ever after?” I asked. “The real one. Not the sanitized, rom-com bullshit. The one that says, ‘you’re safe now, and it’s not a trick’?”
Remi was quiet again. I watched her eyes trace the rim of her glass.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I want to believe it’s possible.”
Something shifted in her then. The edges of her mouth tightened. That quiet haunted look that only came when she was holding back something sharp.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me, then back down. “Jack got an offer,” she said. “A promotion. They want him in the city DA’s office.”
My stomach dipped. “Shit. Are you okay?”
She gave a soft laugh, not the real kind, just a sound that filled the space.
“He was willing to turn it down. Said he’d stay here if I asked.”
“But you didn’t.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Why?”
Remi took a long breath. “Because I saw my dad in that moment. He was driven too. He always had big ideas about power and legacy. But he stayed with my mom because she got pregnant right out of high school, and everything he wanted became resentment. They poured all their dreams into being important in a town that didn’t care.
And they hated each other for it. Hated us. ”
She looked at me then. Her voice was steady, but her eyes glistened.
“I don’t want that for Jack. He’s good. He’ll do real good in that role. And if I keep him here just because I’m scared of being alone, I become the weight that drowns him.”
I reached out and touched her wrist. “You’re not that to him.”
“Maybe not. But I’m not his dream either.”
I swallowed hard. “You sure about that?”
She gave me a tired smile. “I think Jack deserves a life where he doesn’t have to choose between who he loves and what he’s meant to do.”
“And you?” I asked. “What do you deserve?”
Her answer came so fast it hurt. “I deserve to keep building this place. To make sure what happened to the Sofias, and the Jennys doesn’t happen again.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So, I just leaned against her. Let our shoulders touch. Let my head rest under hers.
Remi relaxed into me and after a few minutes asked, "Are we going to decorate the apartment this year, or just the clinic?"
I laughed at her change in topic, "I don't know, Rem, are you going to pout if we don't put up your precious twinkle lights?"
I felt a sharp pinch on my side, "I don't pout... but yes, maybe."
I pinched her back and smiled.
Then she said, "And maybe a tiny tree in the corner by the kitchen?"
I snuggled in closer to her. She was my family, and she didn't ask for much. "Deal, twinkle lights and a tiny tree."
She put her wine down and pulled the blanket up closer around us.
We stayed like that for a long time, two girls raised on broken promises, trying to rewrite the ending. Trying to hope and dream in a world made of pain and nightmares.