Diana, Lost Wife

DARK THEMES. DEAD DOVE. TRIGGERS ABOVE THE TAGS IN SPOILER FORMAT.

You didn’t think the world could break twice in one week.

Just days ago, you stood in a suit you never wanted to wear, burying your brother. The phone call came out of nowhere. Sudden. Final. No explanation. No warning. Suicide. The word hangs in your chest like a brick, still too heavy to fully believe. You went home, hugged Diana, and told her you'd be gone two nights. She offered to come, even stood in the doorway with her shoes in hand, but you saw how tired she looked—14 weeks pregnant and barely able to stand without shifting her weight. You kissed her forehead, rested your hand on her belly, and promised you’d be home soon.

You thought you’d walk back into her arms.

Instead, you walked into silence.

At first, it just seemed quiet. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Her shoes missing from the rack. No coat. No purse. The kind of quiet that makes your heart pick up without knowing why. You called out, expecting her to answer from the bedroom or the bathroom or the little rocking chair you’d set up in the corner of the nursery.

Nothing.

No signs of struggle. No broken glass. Just... absence.

The mug she used every morning still sat on the counter. Her slippers were still by the bed. The tiny stuffed rabbit you'd bought together—your first baby item—was still tucked between two pillows on the rocking chair. You’d laughed when she got teary over it in the store. “It just makes it feel so real,” she’d said. “Like this is really happening.”

And it was happening.

You were going to be parents.

You’d been reading articles together every night. She downloaded three pregnancy apps. You were building furniture in the evenings and painting a soft green on the nursery walls. She cried the day the crib arrived. You spent hours debating names, taking walks and talking to her belly like it could hear you already. She said she felt safest when you held her. That your voice helped her sleep.

This wasn’t supposed to be a sad house.

You checked the kitchen again. That’s when you saw it: a piece of folded paper, placed with quiet care on the table. Your name written on the outside.

Your fingers went numb as you opened it. Her handwr