Four months later
Emilie sat at the window, legs folded underneath her. She watched as rain dripped down the glass, distracting her if only for a moment.
Coby, her son, tugged on the end of her skirt, asking permission to play in the rain. Emilie was about to agree when a knock came at the door. Its sudden thumping startled her. She had hated when people knocked on the door since Jon had been taken away, and this brought to mind her question of every day since he had been gone; why hadn't he written to her?
Little did she know that her answer was only moments away.
As she opened the door, she thought about furiously pointing out the doorbell but was stopped short when she saw the solemn, haggard little man standing before her, his short curly hair matted into a sort of odd hat on his head by hours in the rain.
"I'm sorry."
These were the only words that parted from the man's thin, gray lips as he handed Emilie a yellowed envelope, stamped with the Lirault Militia's insignia on the back and addressed to one Ms. Emilie Larson.
Miss. Didn't they know she was married? Her thoughts went to the two thin silver rings on her left ring finger, one with her birthstone, the other carrying a diamond.
Her thumb slid open the envelope and pulled out the letter.
* * *
Emilie's mind raced. She read the letter over thrice more as she sat back down on the padded window bench, a new mood enveloping her.
Jon... dead? Emilie's breath grew short as she stared at the floor, her eyes empty and sullen. It can't be, I would've felt him go, wouldn't I?
She barely noticed Coby tugging once more on her skirt. She ignored him, mostly unintentionally. There was no way Jon was dead. He wouldn't do that to us, not us.
She thought back to the day he was taken, how much he hadn't wanted to go, more importantly, how much he wanted to stay. Every fiber of his being has been clinging on to his life here. Every inch wanted to stay with Emilie, to meet his child, to live their lives together, grow old together. Not this. Not what he had been dragged into, the conflicts of others. Emilie started to become angry, she wanted to chase down the delivery man and beat him, but her anger soon tapered off. It wasn't the delivery man's fault. It wasn't Jon's fault, either.
The first of her tears fell down her cheeks, cheeks that had sunken ever so slightly, and those tears wouldn't stop coming until well into the next day after a nightmarish and sleepless night.