11.11

In this chapter, Helena will be dealing grief and the feelings it provokes. If you feel this could potentially be triggering to you, please skip to the next chapter.

These themes will continued to be discussed in later chapters, though less heavily.

——

Helena had spent the night at the hospital they had been left at, waiting for Meredith to be ready to leave. She'd set camp in the waiting room, lulling her girls to sleep. Then, she'd sat in silence, too drained to do much else. And she'd waited for her person.

After leaving the kids home, she'd returned to the hospital. She knew she had to break the news. She just couldn't imagine how she could do such a thing.

"Derek is dead." Helena heard Meredith mutter, as she entered the doctors lounge.

"What was that?" Callie asked.

"Derek is dead." Meredith repeated, as the short doctor's eyes filled with tears once again.

"Meredith...?" Owen called out. "He's not dead."

"Meredith, what do you mean? Meredith?" Richard called out.

"What do you mean? Meredith." Callie tried.

At that, Helena spoke up, teary eyed. "Derek is dead. Mark is dead. They're- they're both... ."

By her side, Helena felt Meredith collapse, immediately falling to her knees as to help her.

——

"Lena." A voice called out, the next day, as to wake her. She had not slept. "Lena, good morning."

Helena tried to pretend it was her husband. If she ignored the feminine voice, if she pretended it came form her left side and not her right, if she tried hard enough, maybe it could sound like Mark. Maybe.

But this voice didn't call her "Lee." There was only one person that would call her that way. And, now, she would never be "Lee" again.

Helena let her eyes flutter open, though they did not become as wide as usual, still swollen. Seeing Arizona standing by her door, she muttered. "Hi."

"Morning." The blond smiled softly, sitting by Helena's feet, on the bed. "How are you?"

The younger woman went silence for a moment, at that, before letting out. "I don't... can't do this, Arizona. I-I don't think I can do this. It's just... it's too hard. It's too much. It's all too much."

"We'll all help you do what you can't, Lena. I promise." The blond suggested. "Let's get you into the shower, ok?

——

Helena Campos stared at herself in her bathroom mirror, foggy except for the part that she'd wiped. Prominent eye bags and swollen cheek stared back at her, eyes hooded and red.

As she closed her eyes, she couldn't help but remember the moments she'd spent with her husband, in front of that very mirror.

From simple toothpaste kisses and hugs from the back after showers, hair still wet, to when she'd found out she was pregnant with Caroline.

The doctor took a deep breath, a single tear falling from her closed eyes.

Every single thing in Helena's life was infested with Mark Sloan's memory. Every single piece of furniture in her house, every piece of clothing, every little bit of her own skin.

Because Mark had been the centerpiece of her life, along with their kids.

Mark was her anchor, and Helena was the wind in his sail. Mark allowed her to be careless, and she made him want to be responsible. He made her a better woman, and she made him a better man.

Perhaps Helena Campos and Mark Sloan story wasn't one of epic love. Perhaps they did not fall for each other in the most dramatic of ways, and they sure didn't go through ups and downs as accentuated as Meredith and Derek. Because we all know an epic love story isn't an epic love story without a little bit of toxicity.

But they the great love story. The story grandparents tell their kids, making their eyes go wide with hope. The story of the kind of marriage that lasts, build in trust, companionship and communication, with it's fair share of passion.

Because maybe Helena and Mark's marriage wasn't filled with heated fights and make up sex, but it was full of soft giggles and sleeping in each other's arms. Of whispered 'I love you's after fights and crying in each other's arms. Of slow kisses and silly tea parties with their girls.

——

At Mark's funeral, Helena didn't cry. She held her kids' hands, she held Callie's hand, and she did not cry.

She didn't cry, because she had her children. Children, who had lost their father. Children, who she had to be strong for. She did not get to cry.

——

Helena felt numb. For days, all she could feel was numb. Almost as if she was floating outside of her own body.

She had been sleeping in the guest room, because sleeping in her own bed didn't feel right. She had been dressing different clothes, because wearing the ones Mark used to compliment didn't feel right. She had even started using a different perfume, because the one she wore had been a gift from her husband.

She felt as though her life wasn't hers anymore. Almost as if this reality didn't make sense without Mark in it.

Helena didn't know how she'd made it through the past few days. She genuinely didn't. And, in a way, she did not really make it through them. It was like she wasn't fully present. Like she was just at bay of her own life.

But she did not have the luxury of thinking about that. Her girls's needs had to come first. They had just lost their father. Their life had just been turned upside down. The girls always came first, to Helena.