Lili has come to expect the silence.
They hardly ever speak anymore, not after what happened. They just sit quietly and stare out the window, towards the backyard, where the grave of their firstborn child lays. A white cross nailed to the old oak tree is it's only marking.
Sometimes, when it gets to be too much, she buries her face into his neck, wave after wave of grief striking her and causing her shoulders to shake and tears to stain his uniform, the sounds of her sobs the only thing to be heard.
It's been two weeks.
