Every night he sat on the couch and waited for her to come home. He would hear her footsteps coming all the way from the bottom of the stairs. It was a slow ascent up the five-floor walkup but he watched the door the whole time like an excited puppy waiting for his owner.
He would see the shadow of her feet under the door and immediately after, hear her keys jangle in the lock. His heart would race so fast and he'd perk up in his seat like all of his muscles were on vibrate. Sometimes he would get up from the couch and run to the doorway to great her but most times, he just sat on the couch in paralysis from all of his excitement.
He'd hear the lock snap. The door would creak open and her smiling face would peak in. She would look at him and giggle, seeing his eyes light up at the sight of her.
"I'm home!" she would sing as she threw open the door and revealed her entire self.
He'd yelp in glee and scamper up to her. She'd have her arms open wide for him and he'd let himself be enveloped in her loving grip.
"I've missed you," he'd whimper, glowing in her embrace.
"I know, my sweet. I've missed you too," she'd whisper, running her fingers through his hair.
She filled the room with so much warmth before she died.
It's been exactly three years since she has opened that door. Three years and every night he has sat on that cold leather couch as he used to when he would wait for her. Three years, but only now he sits for hours holding a photo of her smiling face in his hands while he stares at the door.
It's been three years and the shadow of her feet still lingers beneath the door every night like she's standing just outside.
It happens at the same time every night - at the same hour as when she used to come home, that shadow steps up to the doorway. When it first happened, the night after she passed, he was filled with fear. He stood in the living room, tears still dripping down his cheeks from his bloodshot eyes, staring wide-eyed in horror. The clock struck the hour and out of hopeless faith, he watched the door as if she might just come home again, even if it was only one last time. He wasn't expecting it but there was the shadow of her feet as if nothing had ever changed. As if she were never gone.
But that is all that it was - a shadow.
He thought it was a blessing. He howled and ran to the door, swinging it open as hard as he could but all that greeted him was empty air even though he swore he could sense her there. When he closed the door, the shadow remained and no matter how many times he checked, she was not outside. He watched that shadow stand there all night until the morning when it walked away. He thought that was the last time he would ever feel her presence or see that shadow, but it wasn't.
He waited for it every night and watched, hoping that he'd hear the keys jingle in the door lock after it arrives. But only the shadow appears and nothing more. Not a jingle, not a sound.
He drove himself mad watching and waiting, his eyes dark blue from insomnia and what little hair hadn't fallen out of his skull was uncombed in weeks. He'd lost his appetite as well as one hundred and twelve pounds - his emaciated body wasn't heavy enough to make a dent in the couch like it used to and his clothes fit like heavy rags. He'd withered away to skin and bones and he barely had enough teeth to chew even if he wanted to. His body was yellow and covered in bruises and his nails were cracked all the way through.
But still, he watched. Every night, he watched.
It's been three years since her death and on this anniversary, he sits on the couch, not with her photo but just his pale emptiness. He stares at the door until the clock strikes the hour and her shadow appears. He lets out a deep breath and rubs his sunken in eyes from the tears that have leaked over his sore lids.
Then he hears the lock snap.
His eyes dart open. He removes his hand from his face and watches the doorknob turn. The door creaks open and the shadow of his wife's face is cast onto the white wall of his living room. But he sees something else along with her shadow. Something above her like the dark outline of a scythe.
He hears her beautiful voice whisper, "My sweet, I am home."
