Work Text:
He loves me.
The way he spoke so fondly of her when they first met, the way that above all, she had caught his eye instead of the rest of her sisters, As prettily made and as lovely as they were.
The way that, for a fleeting moment, she held him so dear as to feel he would hold her the same way.
He loves me not.
The things he said to her so condescendingly when he would write to her, the miscommunication, the arguments, the way her heart would ache when she read the letters back again.
How she should have known.
He loves me.
How lovely their children were, how sweetly he embraced them, how gentle the look in his eyes were when he laid eyes upon their firstborn.
How god answered her sweet prayers–how she was finally a mother.
He loves me not.
Little Lou.
God, what would she do without her?
That sweet baby girl, her love, her everything. Gone. Precious little Lou. Her sweet, darling little child…
How she could not yet grieve, without feeling useless.
He loves me.
Yet how he shared her grief, in that moment.
How he had grieved with her, how for once she looked into his eyes and saw what she felt, equally, in his eyes. Yet subdued.
How for once, she felt she could cry.
He loves me not.
How the moment she stepped into the Executive Mansion, it felt as if the world had fallen upon her.
How he hardly listened to a word she said. How her advice seemed to fall on deaf ears. How her sorrows fell on deaf ears. How everything she said fell on deaf ears.
How she realized that he preferred logic over love, even if it hurt her.
Even if she was hurting so bad it was as if she was dying.
He loves me.
How even after her misery, they fought for the same cause, how they both became fervent abolitionists, how they both united for the same cause.
He loves me not…He loves me…He loves me not…
The petals were endless. Fluttering. It hurt her. Hurting, hurting, hurting, forever, displeasure in her eyes.
And finally, a conclusion.
I don’t know if he loves me.
How the moment she saw him again, she cried so violently that the world seemed to bend around them. How when she opened her eyes, he was gone.
How she was alone again. How she had never felt so lonely, even in death. How it relieved her, yet pained her, how she couldn’t even look at her husband anymore without bending all of pure reality.
How for the first time in her dreadful afterlife, Louisa Adams didn’t even want to think anymore.
How she had to realize, if she was ever even able to bring herself to, that her desires would never be fulfilled.
How for what wouldn’t be the last time in her existence, Louisa Adams wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Cinnamonyyy Tue 09 Sep 2025 07:10AM UTC
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