She sat by the phone, waiting for it to ring. She figured if she stared at it long enough, it would, but, like everything else, it didn't do what she wanted it to. She sipped her coffee as she watched the sunrise. Did you see the same sunrise? Will I see the sunset you saw? She thought to herself. She missed him and, she was sure, he missed her.
He hadn't come home. The rest of his unit did, but he didn't. She didn't receive a telegram or a visit, so she knew he'd not been killed. He should have called, but he didn't. But, then again, wasn't this just like him? She may have been his wife, but she was still his mistress. The Army held him and she was jealous of the Army.
Even before his deployment, there were problems. Seemingly, he had been deployed nearly their entire marriage and this time, there were two young kids she had to take care of. She knew they were sleeping and blissfully unaware of his absence. However, every night, she felt it. She was bombarded with dreams of him being killed over there. She avoided watching the news, knowing that with each Soldier killed, she'd fear it was him.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to stay married to him, but she wasn't sure if she wanted a divorce either. She loved him. He was, in every sense, her world, but she knew she could never be his world. She knew this when she married him, but somehow, it didn't seem real. He said he never wanted it to be his life and yet, he was now consumed by it.
The night had been cold and she couldn't find rest in her sleep. His side had been empty for too long now and she began to fear it would never be filled again. She wiped a stray tear from her eyes. She heard the soft padding of a child's walk to her. The very child that made him decide to stay in.
She pulled the toddler to her and held her close. Her daughter's blonde hair was tangled from sleep and her blue eyes were still heavy from sleep. For a few tender moments, they sat there, Mother drinking coffee from a mug and the daughter drinking water from a sippy cup. As her daughter rubbed her eyes, she heard the faint cries of her son. She carried her still tired daughter to the room she shared with her younger brother.
She looked down at her son, who, even at the tender age of one year, looked like his dad. She felt the tears come as she looked at him. He was too young to understand why his mom cried, but he smiled and reached up to her and her heart warmed. She placed her daughter down and picked up her son. The day had to start whether she wanted it to or not.