Alone but happy, Esme sat in the window seat humming softly, a pair of knitting needles and a roll of wool in her lap. The letter reporting Charles' death had not yet arrived but she remained hopeful and optimistic, she had to, it was her only chance. It had been a few months since he had left to fight and as of yet she had not received any letters from him. She knew that even if he was alive that he'd never bother to stay in correspondence with her.
The sight of the mail man made her smile and, not trying to look desperate in front of her neighbours, she wandered over to the mail box. She flicked through the envelopes, nothing from the army. Sniffing loudly, Esme covered her mouth with her hand and swiped a stray tear from her cheek with her finger. Rushing back inside she slammed the door and slid to the floor. Moments later and she could not hold back the tears. She felt like such a horrid wife for wishing the death of her husband, but she was in frantic hope of escaping him, she couldn't stay with him forever…