They say he’s coming home.
I’m not sure what to feel.
Four years. Four years of isolation, and he thinks he can just barge back into my life?
I warned him, I told him not to go. “No,” he said, “No, it’s a matter of my pride.”
What bloody pride? Missing the birth of his only son, was it all worth it? I’ve been living the life of a widow, and my son, Billy without a father. He thought of himself as a legend, a hero, fighting for his country. But leaving your dying wife and unborn son alone is the most cowardly act of all.
He left us with barely anything. The little money that was sent home was scarcely enough for my medical fees...
*
They said to wait the station for his return. I hear hundreds will arrive on the train. I wear my nicest flannel dress, and even put my hair up, but I look like nothing compared to those other healthy, young women. Billy clutches my hand tightly, anticipating his very first meeting with his father.
The train draws in. Shouts of joys from the reunited men and women fill the crisp air with a new warmth.
Where is he? Almost everyone is off the train. I always hated how slow he is.
“Sir?” I ask to a digger passing by. “Where is soldier Wayne Jones?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Madame. He never returned from the trenches.”
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