DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
A/N: for my PostSecret challenge.
I lost him. Ten weeks later it's finally setting in that I am officially alone - horribly, desperately alone. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I am an absolute waste of a human being, but that wouldn't be the case if he hadn't… if… Tears well up in my eyes as I remind myself that he's really, truly gone. After all I hoped for, all those dreams that seem so stupid and childish now, he left me. I'm just a part of his past now, but he's all I can think about. I don't worry about people, ever, but I worry about him. I haven't a damn clue where he is, so I worry and I wait. I know, I just know I won't be alone forever. The question now is, how long will it take? How desperate will I become before I finally get what I've wanted since the moment I knew what had happened? I know it'll happen - it has to - but when?
I lie on a leaf pile in my mother's yard, something I haven't done since I was ten, and stare up at the sky. There really isn't much else to do here; the yard's a bit of a joke, and going inside will mean risking Mum's volatile mood. Ever since Dad went into hiding ten days ago, she's been even jumpier than I've been, and with good reason. It's almost sick to contrast our situations, but I can't help but do it. I'm nearly twenty-five and pregnant; she's forty-five and rather shocked by the fact that her daughter's returned to the nest. My husband is more than capable of taking care of himself, wherever the hell he is; hers… well, isn't. I feel like I can think that because it's always been glaringly obvious that Dad's magical skill isn't amazing or anything. I mean, he's my dad and I love him, but… I stop myself again. I don't need to cry, not now, not when I'm trying to focus on the sky.
I watch the skies as much as possible, hoping that one day I'll see an owl flying towards me with a letter in its beak. It's a hopeless dream, I tell myself, but I believe in the man I love. I know he's still out there somewhere, I know he hasn't forgotten me, I know he'll find a way back to me. Everything around me says the opposite, but I believe in him. I always hope to get an anonymous letter explaining where he really is, because I don't know and I'm absolutely terrified. I know he's out there, but where? I cry far too much now - pregnancy hormones plus loss is a horrible combination - and I'm constantly wondering what happened. He didn't leave a note or anything; he just left. What kind of a man leaves his pregnant wife for no apparent reason? I know I should hate him, but instead I find myself doing the opposite. Even though he's essentially destroyed my life, I still love him.
When day turns to night and I decide to go inside and face the insanity of my mother, I stand up and face the open space around me, my back to the house, and I yell the three most powerful words I can think of, the simple question I want to ask him so badly. "Where were you?" Then I turn around and walk away.
