In the stillness

In the stillness, I hear how my house breathes. I hear the gravely snores of the pup, curled sweetly on the couch. I hear the tick-tock of the clock, counting down the minutes before I leave once more.

Further and faintly I hear the nighttime cries of my youngest. Cries of pain, cries of sadness. The soft sighs of my eldest, as he dreams; his dreams are mysteries not even he will remember.

Further still, I hear the familiar sounds of my husband. Tossing, turning, lightly sleeping. Escaping into sleep while he still can.

I hear the sounds of my keyboard. My fingers compete with the ticking of the clock, both racing the night away. Too fearful to sleep; too tired to complete the necessary tasks. If they remain uncompleted, that means the night will never end; the day will never dawn; I will not have to worry any longer.

But I know morning will come. My beloved will come down the stairs, take me into his arms and escort me to another horror. Not because he wants me to suffer it; because he doesn't want me to suffer it alone.

So this night will pass, with tick-tocks and click-clacks. I will be fearful but hopeful. Remember, if you are reading this, I love you.