Ironically, she couldn't sleep.
Her day at work had been horribly demanding. Halfway through her shift, she
was ready to crawl back into bed. Somehow, she had managed to keep her eyes
open. Miraculously, she hadn't killed anybody, although the temptation had
been overwhelming when a certain chief of staff entered the OR while she
was holding scalpel.
After being drained of every once of physical and emotional strength she
possessed, and more, she left the hospital to go to her other full time
job: She was a mother. Once Ella had been fed, changed, bathed and tucked
into bed, Elizabeth was finally free to sleep. Yet, when she finally lay
her aching body down, no sleep came.
So, here she was, wandering through the house like the crazed insomniac she
was. Before she entered each room, she opened the door a crack and peered
in like a timid child. She almost tricked herself into believe that if she
repeated this exercise again and again, eventually she would find Mark
dozing on the chesterfield. And then her life would be as it had been
before his death. The way it should be. It was daft, she knew, but at 1:00
am, nothing made sense.
Elizabeth eased open the living room door for the third time, and checked each of the overstuffed armchairs. No dead husbands here, she though bitterly, get a hold of yourself Elizabeth, he's not coming back. Dejectedly, she slumped down and allowed herself to be swallowed by the voluminous cushions on the chesterfield. She had cranked up the thermostat, but she was still shivering. It was the kind of cold that came from the inside. She wrapped herself in the woolen afghan around in a futile attempt to warm herself. On the coffee table, she spied the photo album that she had been flipping through the previous night. She set the book on her lap and began pouring of the glossy pages. This was all she had left of her husband. She longingly run her fingers over the images of the man who scarce months ago, had been in her arms. Tears fell silently from her eyes and splattered over the photographs. These snapshots of her past were like a sweet poison. She savoured the memories of Mark, but it ate away her inside, knowing that there would be no more.
It was not an ache, as it had been those terrible first days. Time may not heal all wounds, or any wounds for that matter, but it proved to be a decent anaesthetic. It was not the emptiness she had felt as she peered down into the cold earth and saw that accursed black box known as a casket. Widowed or not, she was still Elizabeth Corday. Not the exactly the same person she had been, but a person nevertheless.
She felt simply extinguished. Like there was a candle that had
burned within her, fueling her soul, and then someone had dowsed with a bucked of ice water. She shuttered as she forced herself to see her future before her. It would be no great tragedy, but it would be hard. She had always been up to a challenge. However, without the steady glow of that internal spark, her motivation seemed evaporate. These days, she saw little point in living. The only reason she persisted was because the only other option would leave Ella orphaned.
Through the dinning of her morbid contemplation, she though she heard something move outside. The noise was so subtle, she was not certain she had actually heard anything. Could it be wishful thinking. There it was again. Could it possible... Come off it Elizabeth, she mentally scolded herself, your he's going to just show up on your doorstep. All this sleep deprivation is making your imagination play tricks on you. However, she heard the mysterious sound once again and this time in was unmistakable. Someone was walking towards her front door. She threw off the blanket and scampered to the entranceway. She unlocked the door and peered out, only half expecting to find anyone. Yet she saw a familiar face from the hospital, approaching her door with a package under his arm.
Elizabeth eased open the living room door for the third time, and checked each of the overstuffed armchairs. No dead husbands here, she though bitterly, get a hold of yourself Elizabeth, he's not coming back. Dejectedly, she slumped down and allowed herself to be swallowed by the voluminous cushions on the chesterfield. She had cranked up the thermostat, but she was still shivering. It was the kind of cold that came from the inside. She wrapped herself in the woolen afghan around in a futile attempt to warm herself. On the coffee table, she spied the photo album that she had been flipping through the previous night. She set the book on her lap and began pouring of the glossy pages. This was all she had left of her husband. She longingly run her fingers over the images of the man who scarce months ago, had been in her arms. Tears fell silently from her eyes and splattered over the photographs. These snapshots of her past were like a sweet poison. She savoured the memories of Mark, but it ate away her inside, knowing that there would be no more.
It was not an ache, as it had been those terrible first days. Time may not heal all wounds, or any wounds for that matter, but it proved to be a decent anaesthetic. It was not the emptiness she had felt as she peered down into the cold earth and saw that accursed black box known as a casket. Widowed or not, she was still Elizabeth Corday. Not the exactly the same person she had been, but a person nevertheless.
She felt simply extinguished. Like there was a candle that had
burned within her, fueling her soul, and then someone had dowsed with a bucked of ice water. She shuttered as she forced herself to see her future before her. It would be no great tragedy, but it would be hard. She had always been up to a challenge. However, without the steady glow of that internal spark, her motivation seemed evaporate. These days, she saw little point in living. The only reason she persisted was because the only other option would leave Ella orphaned.
Through the dinning of her morbid contemplation, she though she heard something move outside. The noise was so subtle, she was not certain she had actually heard anything. Could it be wishful thinking. There it was again. Could it possible... Come off it Elizabeth, she mentally scolded herself, your he's going to just show up on your doorstep. All this sleep deprivation is making your imagination play tricks on you. However, she heard the mysterious sound once again and this time in was unmistakable. Someone was walking towards her front door. She threw off the blanket and scampered to the entranceway. She unlocked the door and peered out, only half expecting to find anyone. Yet she saw a familiar face from the hospital, approaching her door with a package under his arm.
