A Widow’s Child, A Wife’s Goodbye のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 8

I shut down my computer. “A friend.”He lingered, watching me. I was too calm—no teasing smile, no familiar gesture of reaching for him. I stayed where I was, distant in a way he wasn’t used to.“She told me she’s pregnant,” I went on, my voice steady, “but she just found out her husband is cheating. Another woman is pregnant too. She can’t decide whether to pretend nothing happened or confront him and ask for a divorce.”Something subtle shifted in Daniel’s gaze.“I told her to leave,” I said simply. “Take the child and disappear. Don’t argue. Don’t negotiate. A man who cheats has already made his choice. Silence is the only response he doesn’t control.”For a brief moment, panic crossed his face.Then he studied me more carefully, as if weighing every word, until he convinced himself I was only talking about someone else.He relaxed.Stepping closer, he patted my back gently. “Don’t get so worked up, sweetheart. That’s your friend’s husband. Not me.”He smiled. “You’re right though.

Daniel returned home on the third night.The house greeted him with silence so complete it felt staged, as though every sound had been carefully removed. No footsteps. No voice calling his name. No light left burning in the sitting room the way I always did when he was away.He paused just inside the doorway.For reasons he would not later be able to explain, his first instinct was not relief—but unease.“Margaret?” he called.Nothing answered.His coat slid from his shoulders onto the floor. He moved through the house quickly, checking the bedroom, the study, the dining room, as if expecting to find me tucked somewhere out of sight, waiting to scold him for being late.The bed was made.Too neatly.The wardrobe stood half-empty. My winter coat was gone. So were the shoes I favored when traveling. On the vanity, my jewelry box lay open, untouched except for the simplest pieces I wore daily. Everything extravagant—the things he had bought me over the years—remained behind, aligned with

The first explosion hit just before dawn.I was already awake, scrubbing my hands at the basin, the water cold enough to sting. The ground trembled, dust raining down from the canvas ceiling, and somewhere outside a runner shouted warnings that blurred into the rising sirens.“Incoming wounded!”I didn’t freeze.I didn’t think of anything beyond what needed to be done.“Table three is free,” I said, already pulling on gloves. “Get morphine ready. Check blood type tags before transfusion.”They listened.That still surprised me—how quickly they listened.The first stretcher came in soaked with blood, the kind of deep arterial red that doesn’t forgive hesitation. A young corporal, barely twenty, shrapnel embedded in his thigh. He was conscious, eyes wide with pain.“Look at me,” I said, steady, meeting his gaze. “Don’t look down. You’re going to be fine if you follow my instructions.”His breathing hitched, then slowed.I worked fast, fingers precise. Clamp. Pressure. Tourniquet adjusted

The edge of the war zone was quieter than Daniel had imagined.No artillery fire.No sirens.Only wind carrying dust across the flat, scarred earth.He stepped out of the military vehicle, boots sinking slightly into the mud hardened by old blood and rain. Ahead stood a cluster of temporary medical tents, their white fabric dulled by smoke and sun.This was where they told him she was.Margaret Hawthorne.No—just Margaret, now.He spotted her before she saw him.She was kneeling beside a stretcher, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as she pressed gauze against a soldier’s wound. Her hair was pulled back tightly, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. She spoke calmly, efficiently, issuing instructions without raising her voice.The medics around her moved when she spoke.Not because of rank.Because they trusted her.Something twisted painfully in Daniel’s chest.She looked… whole.Not fragile.Not abandoned.Not waiting.When the stretcher was carried away, she straightened, pulling of