Agnes
Richard was sitting alone in his study when we found him. His shoulders were hunched, his face drawn and pale in the low light. He looked up as we entered, and even in the dimness, I could see that his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.
“She’s gone,” he said simply.
Despite having seen the coroner’s van, hearing the words still felt like a punch to the gut.
“Richard, I’m so sorry,” I said, stepping forward.
He simply nodded, his gaze drifting back to the fireplace, where the fire had burned down to nothing but embers. “It was peaceful, at least. She went in her sleep. The doctor says she didn’t suffer in her final moments.”
Small mercies, I supposed. But what comfort was that, really, when the person you loved was still gone? I thought about how I would feel i
