She waited by the
slanted windowsill,
smelling of cranberries
and melancholy. She picked
at the fine stitching
on her nightdress and
wilted against the panel,
searching for his silhouette
in the distance.
Six months. Over
one hundred eighty days
of watching the sun reach its
peek then plummet, only
to repeat the cycle without him there.
She would spend the days with
hot chocolate, their drink, cooling
in her hands. She would wear
his robes, the ones with ermine
lining the cuffs, to cover the erratic
beating of her forlorn heart. She
would write him letter after
letter, informing him of every
tedious fact, and every snippet of
gossip she managed to catch. When
he came home, they would
read the letters and she would
remember why she waited.

She met him at a ball. Oh the clichés!
For once she was not teeming to be
the center of attention. These people,
with their foreign languages and
encrypted glances and shimmering
costumes startled her. She was used
to being the most bedazzled young
lady in the room. At least five people
outshone her. Then she saw him and
bless her southern heart if he wasn't
the most darling man she had laid eyes
on. Chiseled jaw line, coffee cream skin,
oh she was swooning already.
Perhaps he sensed her eyes tracking
him around the hall, for he was suddenly
at her side. To add to the list, he was
a tremendous dancer. She wondered
if the floor was secretly made of clouds
and they were really floating. He was
everything she had hoped to find in a man
and she had every intention of keeping him.
She didn't know it at the time, but he had
every intention of staying since he spotted those
azure irises following him.

Now, as the rain pounds the glass, streaking
her shallow face, she whispers his name,
pressing her hand against the cool window.
Her wedding band winks at her, tempting
her smile. This isn't the first time his
duties have taken him from her side
and it won't be the last. She has known
this since the beginning. It doesn't make
the ache fade, it doesn't change how
lost she feels. But the knowledge
that he will return slows her heartbeat,
forces her to rise each morning and
attend to the leftover duties as best she can.
Her hand falls from the sill and rests on
her stomach. Six months left.
He'll be home just in time for the birth.