A Widow’s Child, A Wife’s Goodbye

Three months ago, my husband, Second Lieutenant Daniel Hawthorne, and his older brother, Thomas, were deployed to the front.

A month later, only Daniel came back.

Thomas was dead.

In a time like this—when cities burned overnight and lives disappeared without warning—a widow had no ground to stand on.

Eleanor, Thomas’s wife, unraveled quickly. She cried until her voice broke, starved herself, wandered at night as if hoping the war might take her too.

She tried to end her life.

More than once.

I stayed with her.

I talked to her, held her, reminded her that she was not alone, that she still mattered, that Thomas would never forgive us if we let her follow him into death.

Daniel stayed with me, or so I believed. He said it was his responsibility, that Thomas had entrusted Eleanor to him.

Two days ago, everything changed.

Eleanor came back from the hospital holding a pregnancy report.

Three months pregnant.

Everyone called it a miracle. A mercy. Proof that God had not taken everything from her when her husband died.

The house filled with relief overnight. Her grief softened into something people could bear to look at.

They said the child had saved her. That she finally had a reason to live.

I was genuinely happy for her.

And for the first time, I gathered the courage to tell Daniel the truth I had been carrying in my pocket for days.

I was pregnant too.

That night, I held my own test report as I walked toward the study, rehearsing how I would tell him. But before I reached the door, I heard voices inside.

Daniel wasn’t alone.

“Daniel,” a man said with a low laugh, “you don’t expect me to believe you never wanted her. Your brother’s wife.”

“That’s not it,” Daniel replied, his voice tight. “She came to me crying. Said she couldn’t go on living after Thomas died. She said… if she had a child, maybe she could survive.”

He sighed.

“This stays between us. If Margaret ever finds out, I’m finished.”

His friend chuckled. “You’re impressive. First half of the night with your wife, second half with her. You don’t get tired?”

“And you’re not afraid she’ll wake up?”

Daniel laughed quietly.

“She won’t. There’s always sleeping pills in her milk.”

There was a pause.

Then the sound of glasses clinking.

They laughed together.

I stood there, frozen, my fingers numb around the pregnancy report.

In that moment, something inside me split—cleanly, quietly.

The love I had believed in, the marriage I had trusted without doubt, ceased to exist.

I didn’t rush in.

I didn’t scream.

I turned away, walked back to the bedroom, and closed the door without a sound.

Only then did the tears fall—quiet, uncontrollable.

Love like ours was rare in this age.

In a world consumed by war, where survival mattered more than promises, when romance was treated like a luxury few could afford, he still gave me a cathedral wedding and a dress so exquisite it felt unreal.

He wore his love for me openly.

My photograph was always tucked against his chest, close to his heart, a symbol he never tired of showing others.

When he came back from battle, he brought gifts instead of scars—beautiful things, unnecessary things—proof that even in chaos, he had chosen me.

That was what made it unbearable.

Because a man capable of such devotion had still chosen betrayal.

A notification sound cut through the darkness.

An email.

From the First Battle Medical Command.

Margaret,

We are honored to have you join the frontline medical division. With your expertise, I am confident casualty rates will be significantly reduced.

You will be issued the highest-level clearance. In the event of escalation, your immediate family will be granted priority evacuation and full protection. This is the army’s guarantee.

A helicopter will arrive in three days. Please prepare accordingly.

My parents had died in the war five years ago.

Daniel had been my only family left.

His brother. His sister-in-law.

I had treated them as my own blood.

Now I understood.

They were no longer my family.

I typed my reply.

Thank you, Commander. The clearance will not be necessary. I have no family.

I only ask that my identity and assignment be kept strictly confidential. I do not wish for anyone to know where I am.

A reply came quickly.

Your husband—

He is no longer my husband, I wrote. He has a child with another woman.

A brief pause.

Understood. Your information will be sealed. He will never find you.

The bedroom door opened without a sound.

Daniel walked in carrying a glass of warm milk, his expression gentle, familiar.

“Who were you emailing?” he asked casually.

I looked up at him.

And smiled.