Small Things

She knows suddenly, and with only a small amount of surprise, that her life is over. She doesn't want to do anything without Maes.

Gracia is standing in the doorway of their bedroom – her bedroom, now- when she begins to cry. The late afternoon sun falling across the empty bed is what finally does her in, and the pictures of him, of their happy little family, smiling from behind glass on every surface in the room.

Her cheeks are wet as she sits down on her side of the bed – though it's only her bed now, really – and unbuckles her shoes. Numb, clumsy fingers work loose the buttons on her black dress, bought yesterday in haste. It doesn't fit her well. She unhooks her garters, and rolls her stockings down, and pushes everything out of sight under the bed, where she won't have to look at any of it.

She lays down in her slip, across the bed, and pulls Maes' pillow out from under the tucked-in fold of maroon blanket. She had made the bed that morning, in an absurd fit of tidiness. She buries her face in his pillow, and then because she thinks it might make her feel better, she screams.

The pillow swallows the sound, because Elysia is asleep down the hall, and Gracia just feels more isolated. She sobs. Maes is everywhere but where he needs to be. She can smell him on the sheets, his clothes hang in her closet, and she is alone. One of his house shoes is by the bedroom door, and the other is downstairs under the sofa. There is a roll of undeveloped film in his camera, which is still sitting on the kitchen table. His razor is laying in the sink. She remembers these small things acutely, and thinks of them briefly as she realizes she will have to put them straight, and she cries harder.

She knows suddenly, and with only a small amount of surprise, that her life is over. She is a widow now, not a wife, and even being a mother doesn't seem so important that she should want to do it without Maes. She doesn't want to do anything without Maes.

When the pillow is soaked and her chest feels cold and empty she falls asleep.

Elysia wakes her, hours later in the dark night, when she crawls into the big, cold bed. Gracia shifts, and pulls the covers back, and they share Maes' pillow when they curl up together. Gracia strokes her little girl's hair, and watches her husband's picture on the nightstand until the light of the new day reflects off the glass.

Fin

AN: Grief isn't nice. I was trying to make myself cry. Poor Gracia. Poor Elysia. Poor Maes. sniffle