It's been three years. Three years of being alone. Three years of worrying. Three years of pain. On this day, May twenty-fifth, there's a knock at the door. I am excited. This could be John right now, coming back from war. Coming to tell me he loves me. I smile as I jump to get the door. I am surprised to see a man in uniform.
Only, it isn't John. He looks serious, he is holding something in his hand. He tells me that John will not be coming home. He hands me a chain and dog tags. John's dog tags. He leaves with an apology and a bow. I clutch the dog tags in my hand, falling to my knees. Mrs. Hudson comes from her door, words of worry coming from her mouth. All I do is shake my head, not able to speak. She finally understands and starts to weep. I can't cry. I want to, I so desperately need to, but I can't cry. Hamish comes down the stairs, wondering what's going on. And where's daddy.
The funeral is today. June tenth. They were able to bring John's body. A shot in the heart. It's open casket. As John's parents go back to their seat, I walk up to the casket with Hamish. I see John. I see the love of my life. My husband. A loving father. I still cannot cry.
We're burying him now. Hamish is heart broken. He squeezes my hand tightly as we watch them bring the casket down. He's only six. He only knew John for three. He is confused, yet he still cries. I still cannot cry.
It's been a month, and I've finally broken down. I was at a crime scene. Some stranger asks where he is. Lestrade tries to explain, but that damage is done. I fall on my knees, painful sobs escaping my throat. Screaming: Why? Why did this happen? Lestrade helps me up and into a nearby cab, telling me I don't have to push myself any longer. I'm still crying. All I do is cry.