She waited, yet he never came

Meg stared out the window. When? When would the hours of torture cease? Each minute was pain because she knew what was coming, but had no way to make it come faster. She wanted it. She needed it. Yet, she had to wait.

She tapped on the arm of her chair in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

Time refused to pass quicker; it almost seemed to slow down out of spite. Meg knew she would not be able to do anything that day until it happened. Until he happened.

It was noon. Meg watched the clock's hand inch toward the number two. She willed it to move faster, but it never did. Meg forced herself to tear her eyes away from the clock, and instead looked back out the window at her driveway. She could practically see him walking up the driveway. He would open his arms wide, and Meg would run to him, a little girl again. He-

"Meg?" a soft voice said from the hall, gentle and caring. It startled Meg out of her thoughts.

Meg looked up to see the concerned face of her mother. She said nothing, only continued to stare out the window.

"You should go to bed, Meg," her mother's voice was meek, almost scared. "It's almost midnight."

Meg turned her cool gaze back to her mother. Meg's utter lack of emotion in her eyes sent a chill down her mother's spine. "I have to wait," Meg murmured.

There was nothing else to do but wait, because what was coming was the most important thing in the entire world. Meg would wait a million eternities, no matter how dull and slow. Her waiting would be worth it, in the end. In the end, everything would be made right again, and he would come back.

"Meg..." her mother's voice broke. A single tear made its way down her face, though Meg wasn't sure why. "Please, come to bed."

"I have to wait," Meg insisted. "I'm waiting for him."

Meg's mother took a tentative step toward her. "Honey, you know he's not coming. Right?"

Meg rose from her armchair and moved away from her mother. Her face, once stoic, had fury emblazoned on it. "Yes, he is!" she shouted.

How dare she! How dare she say that he won't come back, after all the time that Meg had waited. He was her everything, and her mother would not take that away from her with lies. He had to be coming back. He had to, because if he didn't Meg's world would be unraveled.

Meg's mother shook her head slowly, more tears making a trail on her cheeks. She couldn't find the right words, so she just stared, silently pleading for Meg to come back. For the daughter that she once knew to come back. It had only been a day, less than that. But Meg was no longer who she used to be. She had been joyful and creative. Full of life. Now, she was reduced to this sickening waiting. Reduced to nothing more than existence in anticipation of what was to come. Or what she hoped was to come.

Meg didn't back down. "He is!" she kept repeating, as if trying to convince herself. "He's coming back tonight!"

Her mother swiftly crossed the space between them and wrapped Meg in a hug so warm and tight that Meg had no choice but to melt into her arms.

Meg knew in her heart that her mother's words were true, but she refused to believe it. She refused to let her world be shattered. Instead she would wait, because waiting was something that would never break her heart. If she waited until tomorrow, then she would never have to face the reality of today.

"He won't come," Meg's mother said, the words breaking even her heart.

Meg swallowed hard. "W-what?"

Each word Meg uttered was another barb to her mother. "He was killed, Meg. He's not coming back."

"But... but..." Meg started to deny it, but then remembered.

The phone rang, and Meg's mother rushed to answer it. Meg didn't know why; all she knew was that her father would be returning that night. Only a few more hours, and she would finally see him. The man who was always there for her. The one who always supported everything she did, and always made her smile. Saying she missed him when he left to serve in the military would be a gross understatement. She didn't just miss him, she longed for him.

"Yes," Meg heard her mother say to the phone. Her tone was concerned, apprehensive.

"Yes, this is she," she confirmed once more, and Meg strained to hear.

A moment passed, and her mother let out a choked whisper that Meg couldn't understand.

"I- this- please..." It was the first and only time Meg had actually heard her mother stutter like that. It made her heart flip because whatever was being said on the other side of that line must have been something extremely bad, or extremely good. Meg hoped it was the latter. Perhaps he would be home sooner than Christmas. Yes! That must be it! He would come home!

"What's wrong, Mom?" she asked, but her mother ignored her. One hand clutched the phone with a white-knuckled grip, and the other was held over her mouth.

Meg waited with interest as her mother put the phone on the table with shaking hands.

"Your father..." she paused, like saying it might make it suddenly real. "Your father was killed in action. In Iraq."

No. No. Her mother was wrong. He was coming home, and Meg would wait for him until he arrived.

Meg ran from the living room and into the study, blocking out everything. She stared, a desperate hope in her mind that her father would walk up the driveway. She would wait. She would wait a million eternities for him.

Her mother smoothed Meg's hair and comforted her, though she cried her own tears that night. They stayed like that, weeping tears of agony on the floor of her father's study.

"He's not coming back..." Meg whispered for the first time since she got the news. "My father's not coming back..."