The boy behind her--no, the man--continued his attempt to fix the broken chair at the kitchen table. She still thought of him as a boy sometimes. It had been so long. He often saw her as a girl instead of the grown woman she was now. She didn’t know this; he could add this to the list of things he hadn’t told her.
The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and her heart was aching. She heard him tinkering with the tools behind her. It was a familiar sound. No, it was more than that--it was a comforting sound. A few moments had passed since either had spoken.
“I wish you had,” she whispered softly and felt her chest collapse in on itself.
The clinking tools stopped for a moment. He steeled himself then looked up at her. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was still gazing out the window. She wasn’t visibly angry or upset. There was no evidence she felt the same devastation that was wreaking havoc on his insides. A little smile played on her lips as if she was envisioning what could have been. It passed over her face like a mist.
He stared at her profile silhouetted against the soft light coming through the window. He reminded himself to breathe and turned back to the chair. She walked out to the garden where her husband and baby waited for her.