Disclaimer: I don't own anything, everything belongs to Naghty Dog, Sony and other respective owners.
I am not an English-speaker, so if there are mistakes, forgive me, I am doing my best to avoid them.
She closed the door behind her. She was greeted by a complete darkness. Not turning on the lights she reached out to the left side and entered the code to disarm the antiburglary alarm. The device answered with triple beep, not classifying her as an intruder. But for the first time ever she didn't feel like at home.
Elena put her travel bag on the ground and leaned against the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a few moments she saw the outline of the stairs, closets and a hallway leading to the living room. The house was bleakly quiet. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg on the left side of the door, moving to the side a few of her husband's outerwear that already hanged there. When she moved them to the side, well known smell of his perfume spread in the air.
She slid her sneakers and gently kicked them towards other pairs of male and female shoes scattered around the seat. She was bone-tired – a dozen or so hours of flight from Madagascar were a burden for her. She definitely needed sleep. She directed her steps towards the stairs, climbing to the first floor and then walked straight to their bedroom.
She felt exhausted both mentally and physically. She was thinking during the whole flight, unable to rest even for an instant. Nonetheless, she stopped at the entrance to the bedroom, as if some invisible barrier prevented her from making further steps. She leaned against the door frame, looking inward with a sad, a little blankly glance.
The room was a slight disarray, as usual. On the dresser laid a few unfolded clothes, that she didn't set aside into the closet after packing-up her stuff to Madagascar. Livid moonlight and street lights fell into the room by half-obscured window blinds, illuminating their double bed. On its right side blinked the red screen of the electric alarm clock, indicating the time – 3:25; on the small table on the other side of the bed laid an open book, which Nate hadn't finished reading before he departed.
She took a deep breath. She closed the windows before her departure, and now there could be felt light stuffiness in the room, which perpetuated his scent. Although for the last few weeks she stayed alone in this room, suddenly his presence was almost palpable – folds on the duvet and pillows on the left side of the bed, his book opened in the middle, opened doors to their dressing room, an opened bottle of his perfume... as if he had left just a few moments ago, and he was going to come back soon.
Memories of their shared moments in this room pierced through to her consciousness. As they both couldn't get away from their books until late at night. As after washing-up they were assorting their socks in pairs, sitting cross-legged on the floor; these attempts almost always ended in failure because of Nate's endless jokes, and then all the socks landed in one single drawer. As after her return from another long trip they laid across the bed, longing for each other, just hugging, saturating their senses with their presence. As he sometimes carried her in his arms to this room without breaking the kiss. As she was getting annoyed when he happened to fall asleep during the movie. As she waked up of an extremely realistic nightmare, and he, though still sleepy, enveloped her with his strong arms and cradled her peacefully until she wouldn't fall asleep again. As he was whispering in her ear that he loves her the most in the world. As she was trying on different clothes in the dressing room while he was siting bored to death on their bed, repeating time after time that she looks beautiful and couldn't we just go finally? As during quarrels they glanced at each other from the opposite ends of the room, both guided by pride, but deep within wanting to reunite. As he enveloped her waist during their sleep, gently pulling her closer. As he fell asleep with a book on his chest and she put off on the bedside table, composing gentle kiss on his temple. As during lazy, summer mornings they spend hours lounging around in bed, letting warm rays of the rising sun stroke their bodies hidden under thin sheets. All these images danced before her eyes in the moonlight, like eternal spirits. She felt like if it weren't her memories. The idea of spending another lonely night in that bed made her shiver. The bed seemed as much dangerous as quicksand or swamp. This was too much. She could not cross the doorstep of this room.
She turned on her heel, went down the stairs again, and then directed to the living room. Along the way she caught a sight of his smiling face looking at her from their joint photographs. She instinctively ran away from that gaze, as if it was burning painful wounds in her body.
When she reached the couch she almost immediately fell on the pillows and pulled her legs high under her chin. Even here she could notice joyful, bright eyes belonging to a smiling, handsome man from the picture at the top of the bookcase. Nevertheless, she didn't see anything familiar in those eyes. A complete stranger was staring at her. She realized that even though she spent so many years with him, she didn't know him at all. She knew nothing about her husband.
She felt as if the walls of the room narrowed inward. She squeezed her eyes shut; tears flowed through her eyelids, soaking quickly into the rough fabric of the pillows. Shortly afterwards she fell in short, restless sleep.