The door swung open to the dimly lit interior of the hut. The breeze from the outside disappeared as she walked, replaced by the warmth of her lover's abode. Diana looked around at the stacks of books filling the living room, a testimony of how hard Arthur worked.
"Rega?" she called, and her voice fled to the farthest corners of the house. "Are you there?" she asked, and there was no response. The weeping stopped long ago, but there was the quiet breathing of a child.
Diana walked through the tables and chairs, going all the way to the back rooms. Finally, she stopped in front of the door, unwilling to go inside.
Her breathing was all she could hear. Diana has always considered the possibility of his leaving, but never his death. It was always a question of how to be together, as if it was absurd to consider a different fate.
