Raindrops
1925
Robert never thought he would be alone; he always thought he would be the one to go first. It seemed that he had been so very wrong; more than wrong, because there he was, watching the casket that held his wife's body lower into the ground. His heart felt as if it had shattered into a million miniscule pieces. They were supposed to have years left together. What was he supposed to do without the love of his life?
Cora had been fine and then … then suddenly she wasn't. What confused him, though, was that it had all started out as a common cold; just a little cough, nothing more, not even a fever. But then suddenly, it wasn't just a cold anymore. All at once, the cough had gotten worse—to the point where she couldn't get a breath and would nearly pass out. It had all been accompanied by a sudden fever and then, a few days later, blood in the handkerchief she had been coughing into.
Pulmonary consumption, Dr. Clarkson had told them. Tuberculosis. He had told them that if they had found it a little earlier, her chances of living might have been increased, due to the means to treatment available now. But it had been too late for any of the treatments to even nearly work. So he had prescribed rest and fresh air.
By some miracle, Cora had begun to get better again. She still had difficulties breathing, and a small cough was still present, but she seemed to regain colour and a little bit of energy. Then one night, she had retired to bed early after dinner, claiming to be tired, which was plausible. Not even five minutes later he had decided to retire as well, just to make sure she fine. However, when he had reached the door to their room, he couldn't help but feel something was wrong. His fears had been proven true when the door had opened and he found his wife collapsed on the floor, no pulse and no breath being drawn.
And now, two days later, he was watching them bury the woman he had loved for thirty-five years. Even after it was all over and everyone had left, the rain beginning to fall, he still remained. He felt Mary's gaze on his back, but he ignored it as he finally allowed the proof of his sorrow to become visible, the tears mixing with the rain. There he remained, softly crying his wife's name along with unidentifiable words of apology, until his daughter's each gently took one of his arms and led him to the car.
He woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of a sweet voice calling his name. Turning over, he saw his Cora, a concerned look on her face as she gently brushed back the hair that had been sticking to his forehead. Gently, he took her hand in his, placing a kiss to it, softly saying, "I'm fine, my dear. It was just a dream."
And every night since for a few weeks, he said those exact words to himself in his head. It was just a dream.
A/N: I would like to apologize for this chapter. One, because of it's content, and two, because it's so short. This was literally written at 2 am and it seems my mind was in a rather depressive area. I also need a new title for this story now that I have decided to turn it into a series of oneshots, so any suggestions are more than welcome!
For anyone who is interested, the prompt was: A death in the family.