Member-only story
After You Were Gone
I thought my story ended with you, but now I’m not so sure.
It happens on a sunless day in mid-October.
My eyes catch the off-white light filtering through the curtains. Even without looking over at the clock, I can feel in the stiffness of my joints that I’ve overslept. Strange, really, since back when we had a dog we were always woken up too soon, far before the touch of sun glimpsed the horizon.
What’s even stranger is that I can still feel the weight of the bed on my husband Hugh’s side. He normally gets up before I do, and his shifting in the bed is what pulls me from the last grasps of pure slumber.
When I reach over to touch his arm, his skin is barely lukewarm.
My heart pulses with panic as I look over and see his eyes still closed, his mouth drooped open and his lips turning pale.
“Oh, Hugh,” I whisper.
I don’t even need to check to see if I can feel the warmth of breath.
He’s gone, as simple as that.
The paramedics come. There’s no point, but they check for a pulse anyway. One man, probably old enough to be my son’s age, pats me on the shoulder and asks if I need anything. I shake my head, still numb, as I draw my robe tighter around my body.
