The Soldier's Wife

She was a lone figure, sitting on the black couch in a room that held many memories. Times spent cuddling on that exact couch, talks held in front of the fireplace, intimate moments on the floor, the coffee table, the couch. A smile tugged at the corner of her lip as those last thoughts shifted through her mind.

Clutched in two small, cream colored hands was a weathered picture frame, growing a faded brown color from age. She caught her lower lip in her teeth, fingers brushing lightly over the dusty glass. Her bright green eyes stared into blank blue ones, that would never again be open, that would only gaze up from the frame.

She chocked back a sob, blinking several times to make the moisture in her eyes disappear. She sighed, tucking light brown hair behind her ear. She noted everything in the picture. The way he wore his blond hair in the standardized military cut, his black beret worn slightly tilted. He didn't smile, but she detected laughter in his face.

He wore the green Class A uniform, standing for the army, with pride. An American flag as the backdrop for the picture. Tears collected in her eyes as it struck her, she would never see him again.

As she looked over the picture, memories of that day flooded her mind. She wore black clothes, standing in front of her lover's casket. Shinning engagement ring and wedding band glinting in the relentless sunlight.

As if being yanked back to reality, she wiped her eyes, sighing softly. She kissed the picture and then set the frame on the coffee table. Touching a gentle hand to her stomach, tears gathered in her eyes once again. He would never get to meet his little boy. Her baby would never get to see his daddy. Her head sank into her hands and a sob escaped her lips, shaking her entire body.

He was a dead soldier, never to rise out of the grave again. Standing proud for his country, dying for the people's freedom.

She is a soldier's wife.