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Perhaps the cruelest thing about her relationship with Harvey Dent was the way that it twined joy and sorrow together.
The way that his heroism and bravery during that long streak of "good" coin flips during No Man's Land so bitterly illuminated what kind of man Gotham had lost.
The way that his interrogation of himself during the "trial" showcased his brilliance as a lawyer.
The way that odd meeting with Bruce Wayne gave her another glimpse of what Harvey Dent had once been like, and what Wayne could be. Both of them, such enormous potential -- wasted.
The way that acts of simple human kindness and decency, reaching out to both Harvey and his alter ego, always looking them both in the face, never with pity, but with frankness -- as one person to another -- had become twisted into an ugly parody of love and compassion.
The way that both of them had fallen in love with her.
The way, during those long months in his hideout, she had turned her face to the wall and endured Harvey's version of gentle lovemaking, as well as the choking rage and sorrow his delusions, and desperation, and need caused in her.
The way she looked Two Face straight in the eye all those nights he raped her, because that, in its way, was honest.
The way Batman had discovered and rescued her only when it was much, much too late.
The way that Daria had held her hand through 16 hours of labor.
The way she had given her parents that longed for grandchild ... that they so far have refused to see.
The way Bruce Wayne looked just now as that tiny pink hand clenched his index finger, stuttering that his mother's name had also been Martha. How he seemed to radiate guilt, as if that one strange meeting with her before her abduction somehow made everything else that had followed his fault, and insisted on setting up a trust fund for Martha, and he just wrote Renee a check that's easily double a year's GCPD detective's salary. And yet there is that tender way those massive hands (somewhat awkwardly) held Martha, and also that look in his eyes when she had made that happy little gurgle at him a few minutes ago.
The way that this beautiful little squalling shit-machine of a baby has turned her and Daria's lives inside out and upside down.
The way the color of the onesie Martha's wearing makes Renee think of the Fireweed that bloomed like mad amongst the burnt out buildings of No Man's Land. Huge sprays of fragrant, vibrant purple flowers, buzzing with bees, but only because of fire, and destruction ... and loss.