| General Fiction posted December 9, 2024 |
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Are hopes and prayers enough?
He's Coming Home
by Begin Again
Jessica sat at the kitchen table, her fingers trembling as she clutched the letter from Ken. She reread it for the hundredth time, her heart aching with each word. She held onto the paper as if, by doing so, she could physically pull him back to her, close the distance between them.
"Jess, I can't say much about where I am, but I can tell you this — it's cold, and I miss you more than words can say. At night, when the gunfire echoes in the distance, I close my eyes and picture you. I imagine your laugh, how your hand feels in mine, and the smell of cinnamon in our kitchen. It's what keeps me going."
She clung to his letter like a lifeline — the words etched in her mind.
"I'll do everything I can to be home for Christmas. Save me a spot under the tree. All my love, Ken."
The words blurred as tears welled in her eyes. It had been so long since she'd heard his voice. The spot he'd mentioned was waiting for him — a throw blanket draped over the armchair by the tree, a stocking embroidered with his name hung next to hers on the mantle. But as Christmas approached, doubt had crept in.
Her eyes drifted to the untouched cookie dough on the counter. She had planned to bake them this afternoon, but the energy had drained from her as the hours passed. Her hand rested on the curve of her belly, her thoughts swirling. Would their baby ever know Ken's laugh, his voice, the warmth of his embrace?
The low growl of an engine interrupted her thoughts. Her gaze snapped to the window, and her heart dropped as a car stopped across the street from her house. The military emblem told her more than she wanted to know. Icy fingers touched her spine and her heart.
Two officers stepped out, their hats perfectly angled, their uniforms pristine. They exchanged a few words and then crossed the street, walking toward her house.
Her breath caught in her throat. A tsunami of dread crashed over her, icy and suffocating. The stark realization pierced her — this was the moment she'd feared. Her heart raced as she pressed her hand to her stomach. She struggled to breathe.
Her mind screamed, "Please, Lord, not now. Our baby needs her daddy."
She pushed the curtains aside and forced herself to look once more. They were gone. Had she imagined it?
Then she saw them. The two officers were at her neighbor's gate. They hadn't come for her, but it was like watching an impending storm on the horizon, knowing the threat but not the outcome.
The officers approached Mrs. O'Riley's porch, knocking firmly on the door. Jessica's heart pounded as she pressed a hand to her belly, eyes fixed on the scene. She couldn't make out the words, but Mrs. O'Riley's figure appeared at the door, her face pale. Jessica's stomach twisted — she didn't need to hear anything more. She could see it in the way Mrs. O'Riley's shoulders sagged and how her hands gripped the doorframe.
Oh God, no.
Jessica pressed her palm to the windowpane, hoping, praying that it wasn't what she feared but knowing it was. She didn't know her neighbor well because she'd only moved next door about a month ago. But she still felt the grief, the sorrow, and the loss. It all hit her like a wave, rushing over her chest in a confusing flood.
Yet, she felt relief, followed by a moment of shame. Her heart ached for the woman next door, but she was happy the officers weren't for her. She watched as the men closed the neighbor's gate, leaving grief behind.
Then, without warning, the storm threatened again. The officers started walking toward her house.
Her chest tightened. Fear clamped down on her. She'd been wrong. They were coming to her door. The thought seemed to paralyze her.
Jessica stood up — her gaze glued to the front door. The officers reached her sidewalk. She saw their shadow through the curtains, and her pulse quickened.
She'd moved to the front door, her back pressing against it. The festive warmth of the room suddenly felt cruel in contrast to the dread clawing at her chest. The soft glow of the tree blurred as tears fell from her eyes.
The knock came, firm and deliberate, echoing in the quiet house. She swallowed a sob, her hand covering her mouth as if to hold her fear inside.
No! Not Ken! He promised to come home.
The officers knocked again. Her breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to disappear.
She couldn't let them in. She couldn't hear what they had to say. The words that would destroy their lives.
She tried to block the reality barreling toward her.
The doorbell rang — followed by a third knock.
Her breath caught as she fought to stifle the tears streaming down her face.
The knocking stopped, followed by a suffocating silence.
Still, she didn't answer as if that would change what they had to say. Minutes passed before she heard their muted voices outside. The sound of retreating footsteps followed. She slid to the floor, tears spilling freely.
Finally, Jessica moved away from the door, her breath shaky. Her heart was racing as she walked to the window.
The car was gone.
She turned away, empty inside. The cookies on the counter would remain unbaked.
She curled up on the couch, exhaustion overtaking her, her hand resting protectively over her belly. She knew they would return, but for now —
Sleep came, and with it, a dream. Ken stood in their living room, the lights glowing warmly over his face. He was smiling, his eyes bright with love. She reached for him, but just as her fingers brushed his, darkness enveloped him.
"Ken!" she cried, bolting upright, her heart pounding.
"Jessica," a voice said, gentle but unmistakably belonging to her husband.
She turned and gasped. There he was — Ken, sitting on the couch beside her, his uniform immaculate, his boots polished, his face clean-shaven. He looked every bit the soldier, but it was his eyes, filled with tenderness, that unraveled her.
Her lips trembled as she stared at him. "Ken? But the officers?"
"Yeah, I heard Tim O'Reilly didn't return home. It's a shame."
"I thought —" She touched his face with her trembling hand. "I was sure —"
He smiled, his voice thick with emotion, "It's me, Jess. I promised I'd come home for Christmas."
She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed his cheek. He was warm. Solid. Real.
"But — how?" she whispered, her tears spilling anew.
"I couldn't wait another second," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I had to be here with you. I hitched a ride on a cargo jet."
Jessica clung to him. Her sobs muffled against his chest. Around them, the house seemed to breathe again — the glow of the tree, the faint scent of pine, and the promise of life stirring within her.
"Is this real?" she asked, afraid it might be another dream.
Ken leaned back, cradling her face in his hands. "It's real. And I'll prove it."
He kissed her, soft at first and then more demanding, his lips carrying all the warmth and love she had missed. The world melted away until only they remained, wrapped in the season's magic and the joy of his return.
Jessica laughed through her tears, her hands resting on her belly as the baby kicked in recognition. "You're home," she whispered.
"I'm home," Ken replied, his voice steady, his smile unwavering. "And I'm never leaving again."
The cookie dough could wait. Tonight, Jessica had everything she needed.
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