What she never wanted

The cold breeze of the evening rushes past a still form of a young woman. She is sitting on an old, rusty bench in an empty park, devoid of any sound other than the occasional rustling of leaves. She stares at a small envelope in her hand, the first tear catching onto her lashes just as the faraway bell tower chimes midnight. She takes a shaky breath and slowly opens the letter that she knows will change her life, turn it upside down. Inside she finds a single official letter, the thing she was fearing to receive for the past week. Her eyes are brimming with tears as she remembers what exactly had led her to this moment.

She was just getting ready for bed when the phone rang. How strange. She wasn't expecting anyone to call her at this ungodly hour. She walked over to her dresser, where her phone was left as she was changing her clothes into a night gown. As her fingers touched the device a shiver ran down her spine. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach suddenly. "Hello, Anne Woods at the phone" she said as she usually does when an unknown number calls her. It was quiet on the other side of the line, just the heavy, pained breathing had stopped her from hanging up immediately.  "I am sorry" a voice she knew all too well said quietly, followed by a weak cough. "I am sorry, I love you" was all she heard before the line went dead. "Wait! No!" she screamed and fell to the floor. She tried calling back, many times but the he wan't answering. "What happened? Why aren't you picking up?" she cries. She spent the whole night trying to get a hold of him.

Next day she didn't even try to get up from the floor. She had cried herself to sleep. Her whole body was sore and her eyes swollen. Her phone was ringing. It was the number of her employer, but she just ended it. She might lose her job but does it matter? In the end she sighs and calls back, telling her boss that she is feeling very sick and won't make it. Thank God she has such a wonderful superior. He tells her to relax and get better, not even cross at her for canceling the first call. Anne forces herself to stand up. She needs answers. Heading into the living room, she finds the folder containing information she needs, more precisely, a single phone number. She types the digits into her phone, double checking to see if she had made any mistake and presses the call button. Holding the phone to her ear she waits as the call connects. "Hello, please identify yourself" a woman's voice says. "Anne Woods." she replies, waiting for the woman to find her in the registry. "Ah, yes. What is the reason for your call?" Anne stops and thinks of a way to phrase her jumbled thoughts. "I received a call from my husband yesterday. Can you please tell me his whereabouts?" there is a quiet moment where the woman types the name of her husband in the computer. "It seems that we have...lost connection with him. We will do all that is in our power to regain it. You will be informed as soon as we know" tears once again gather in her eyes and her breath hitches. The woman must have heard it because she continues. "There is no reason to panic. Such things happen quite often, men lose their tracking devices or transmitters. Continue in your daily life and expect us to contact you." With a few more words they ended the call. 

The following days are a blur. She goes to work, acts like nothing is wrong, comes home, waits, cries herself to sleep and so on. The cycle keeps on repeating itself. She is waiting for them to call, staring at her phone, holding it in every single moment she can. But she is tired, and the exhaustion catches up to her when she least expects it. She is walking down the stairs, taking some documents to her bosses office when she slips. The papers and her phone plummet down the stairs at the same time as she does. She can feel the pain pulsing in her head and hip, as well as her right ankle. Her colleagues are quick to help her to her and check the injuries. She is rushed to hospital soon after. Her ankle is broken, a piece of bone sticking out and the x-ray confirms a fractured hip. The impact caused a minor concussion, which needs to be monitored but otherwise should heal on its own. The problem arises when they tell her she will need to undergo surgery to put her ankle in the right place. They can't risk it now, she could fall into coma, but they schedule it to happen in three days if no complications appear. 

So she waits again, with a killer headache and unable to move. What is worse, her phone is damaged beyond repair. She knows they will find another way of contacting her, and that it will be just a little bit slower than a phone call would be. So she closes her eyes and waits. 

A week later she is released from hospital and her friend from work drives her home. As she opens the door she finds a white envelop on the ground. She swallows. This is it, the answer she has been waiting for. She props the crutches on the wall next to her and kneels down. She can't read it here. She just can't. It's...too much. Anne puts the envelope in her pocket and carefully gets up, taking the crutches and making her way to the park that lays right on the other side of the road. It's late, she should have been let out of the hospital tomorrow morning but every cell in her body screamed for her to go home. So she did. And now she was making her way to a lonely bench, illuminated by the light of a nearby lamp. 

Now that she thinks about it, maybe it would be better if she hadn't answered the phone call a week ago. If she hadn't she might not have worried herself sick. Maybe she wouldn't be feeling like the world was ending today. 

She shivers as a desperate sob escapes her mouth. Would it be better if she was oblivious to what she was about to read? Now that she thinks about it, maybe it would be better if she hadn't answered the phone call a week ago. If she hadn't, she might not have worried herself sick. Maybe she wouldn't be feeling like the world was ending today. She knows what awaits her, yet the stubborn hope hasn't't left her mind. She hopes, she really hopes that her intuition was wrong, just this one time. And yet she cries in the silent park. Her hands tighten around the single piece of white paper, crumpling it slightly as she finally gathers the courage to read the printed words. She only manages to read the first two sentences before she breaks down crying, dropping the letter which answered her question, yet broke her heart to million pieces.

Madam, 

    it is my painful duty to inform you that a report has been received from the War Office notifying the death of your husband, Sergeant James Woods. He was killed in action in Syria on the 1st of July.