She feels extremely tired these days... more tired than usual. Opening her eyes has become a challenge. Rising from the bed has become a chore. It was not always so. She had been most diligent in waking up in the morning... because he was waiting for her. Or, more precisely, his text message was waiting for her. Ever since the day he went away to cure whatever disease that was plaguing a little village in god knows where, that was all she saw of him each day. His text message. Her only proof that he was okay... that he will survive and return to her... one day.

She would read it and smile... to have her heavy heart made light. Because of that hope... that hope he will return home... one day.

It renews her, that hope... giving her reason to move, to breathe... knowing the gods have not yet abandoned all life. She would go outside... outside to jog... but not anymore. The outside... the outside belongs to him. She had only gone outside... knowing it belongs to him. But, now... now, not anymore.

She stares at her phone... seventy-two missed calls... thirty-six new text messages... thirty-six... thirty-six... thirty-six... but not one will be from him... will it? She does not want to know. She does not want to know the answer. So... she drops it back onto the dresser. Will it be right? Should she unplug the charger and let it die? The last connection... the very last.

She turns away and drags herself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. At her approach, the refrigerator roars, opening its doors, welcoming her to the feast within. Her arm reaches in deep... pass expired milk, pass moldy cheese, pass rotten fruits, searching for a cold hand to numb the simmering pain inside.

Instead of a cold hand, her fingers find something else. A baby's pacifier. Her baby's. She chokes back a cry.

"Mommy can't play with you right now, baby. Mommy isn't okay right now." Her hand retreats... feeling as if she has wronged the entire world. Her body shakes... hoping to release tears... tears that will comfort both mother and child. But, they will not come. They take pleasure in watching life suffer.

The whispers in her ear startle her, but she is not afraid. She fears people more than she fears ghosts. Any day. Every time she must venture outside the apartment... their apartment, she listens with an ear against the door. She listens for the sounds of rattling doorknobs and heavy footsteps. She is afraid... afraid of seeing them, of meeting their gaze. Having to witness the things reflected in their eyes. Having to force a word of greeting. She does not wish to be forced. No, not anymore.

Heartbroken? Yes... yes, she is heartbroken... but not quite in the way they have come to believe.