Wife's Despair After Loss

Damari Ross dashed back a little after five in the afternoon. His hair was tousled, as if a gale had ripped through it, leaving it in wild disarray. The cold evening air clung to his shoulders like a shroud. Almost instinctively, he reached for a pack of cigarettes, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

My phone kept buzzing relentlessly on the marble table, vibrating with an insistent hum before going silent again. This happened multiple times, wearing thin his already frayed patience. Downstairs, Damari ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, his slender fingers restlessly swiping across the screen.

"Harlee, what kind of game are you playing? Be down here in five minutes."

The phone screen flashed on and then went dark again, lying still on the tabletop. I won't respond.

"If you don't come down, then don’t bother coming back at all."

I'll never come back. Damari stood there, eyes lowered, his fingers curling unconsciously. He was still waiting for me to come down.

But I would never go down.

Aileen Richards, the elderly neighbor, called out to him: "Damari, you're back."

Her voice crackled like an old radio, drawing out her words: "Quickly, you should go take a look, yeah~"

An indescribable regret lingered on her face.

In an instant, Damari's hand, which held the phone, dropped to his side.