I swing the front door open to Luke and I’s empty house.

Once filled with happiness, chatter, love and youth, but now dark, empty and sullen.

After flipping on a few lights, I settle in the kitchen and pull a box of pad Thai out of the fridge—Luke’s. He and I had an obsession with Asian food, Chinese and Thai in particular. It was what we’d eat on the nights we were too lazy to cook.

I pop the box into the microwave and set the timer to two minutes. I stand aimlessly in the kitchen, arms rested on the island while I think about my husband.

How did we get here? Why did it have to be us? What did we do to deserve heartbreak at only twenty three?

We got here by being reckless—getting married so young. I fell first, but he fell harder. We found out I was pregnant a few weeks before the wedding. The gap between due date and wedding date was far enough to dissolve suspicion. Our beautiful girl, Calypso, was born—eyes as silver as ice, like her dad’s, and hair as curly and brown as her mother’s. She was ours. We were happy. Young. Perfect.

And then came the cold.

With the cold came illness—something our two month old couldn’t fight. Tearful nights were spent in the NICU, And hope faded with our girl. At only seven months, we lost her. A part of me died with her.

Depression stole our relationship, and it was too painful to talk about. Luke took night shifts and I took day shifts. I never see him anymore. It’s like we’re just two people living under the same roof…roommates again.

It hurts so much to see his eyes so tired, pale skin paler than ever. Luke had quite a bit of muscle to him, but I noticed him losing that, too. His dark hair is more messy all the time and esteem in the trenches. He was always devastatingly handsome, but just looking at him you could tell he’s suffering. _Our relationship is suffering._

But I’ll always love him.

Before I can get even more solemn, the microwave beeps. I gulp down the noodles and leave the box on our messy island.

I keep myself busy by cleaning up the living room and our bedroom—the only place I see Luke during the week is the morning while he sleeps as I get ready. After the cleaning session, I wash my face, brush my teeth and tie my hair back into a braid that cascades down to my shoulder blades. When I’m finally nestled in bed with a cup of tea, it’s two in the morning. Before sleeping, I throw on my pyjamas—a bra and Victoria’s Secret pants—and open Netflix. Tonight I choose Gilmore Girls.

About a third of the way through episode three, I hear the door unlock and heavy feet shuffle around downstairs. Luke must be home early tonight. He opens the fridge. Then closes it. Then opens it again. It makes me wonder if he’s looking for the pad Thai I ate earlier. Then he ascends the stairs, causing me to freeze in bed. I pull the covers over my legs and turn to face away from the door, looking out at the seaside view beyond our panoramic windows. I throw my phone onto the night stand and pretend to sleep.

Luke stops in the doorway, letting light from the hall stream into the room. He hesitates before walking into the bathroom. After a few minutes, he returns. I have not yet fallen asleep—a feat created by insomnia. I hear Luke’s pants unfasten as he changes into pyjama pants, and I can’t help but wonder what pair he’s wearing tonight. He sighs before sitting down on the bed.

__

__

_“I know you’re awake,”_ he rasps, “you snore, you know.”

I exhale, then turn to face him. His hand runs through his hair as he turns to do the same.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“What for?” He replies just as soft. I contemplate my answer. “For everything.”

That seems to have hit hard. Even in the dark, I can tell his brows furrow. A single tear runs down my cheek. It’s just been so long since we’ve had a real conversation.

“I miss you,” I whisper, “and I need you.” I need him to forgive me for having a baby die. I need him to comfort me. To love me. To act like we aren’t some middle aged parents destined to divorce.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. For not being there. For leaving you alone.” His voice cracked as the words came out, and his sincerity hit me like a bullet. He faced me fully now, and I saw how much he hurt. I saw how much the hurt ate away at him.

“I just miss when we were happy. I miss those two months we had with Calypso,” I added, leaning towards him.

“I miss her so much, too,” he responded, voice low, “but nothing could compare to how much I miss loving you.”

With that, I let the sobs overpower me. Luke held me tight in his arms, and with him, I felt unbreakable. I sucked in the smell of his cologne—a smell I was addicted to. Even he shed a tear or two as we embraced. Luke had always been my saviour, from when we snuck off into the woods at church camp all the way till now. In his arms I was at home. I never wanted it to go back to how it’s been for the past few months.

“Never forget that I love you, so, so much more than anything.” He affirmed. I cocked my head up slightly to respond.

“Never.”

Luke smashed his lips into mine in the moonlit room—hard. The kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. I kissed him back. It reminded me about how real our love is, and how much I hope to never lose it.

That night, everything changed. We’d lost so much. We’d lived so little. But we’d loved so much more after our loss.

* * *

We lay in bed, Luke’s arms draped around my waist lazily. I leaned into his body. After abstaining from any love at all for so long, it feels amazing to have it back full swing..

Tomorrow is the weekend, so there’s no rush to get to sleep. It’s nearly morning, but I won’t let this moment slip away.

“Can we stay this way?” I ask.

“In mourning, or in bed?” He replies.

“Neither. In love.”

“Of course we will. I’ll always love you more than anything—know that.” He smiled down at me as I faced him, my Home, and he kissed me again—sweet and promising.

“I will _never_ let _anything_ break us that way again.”

As I gazed out to the loving ocean, I knew that my words have never been truer.