Then the flowers.
Then the sympathy cards.
Then the visitors slowly stopped coming.
And that was when the real loneliness began.
The house that once felt warm suddenly felt enormous.
Every room reminded her of him.
His favorite chair sat empty.
His slippers remained beside the bed.
His coffee mug stayed untouched in the kitchen.
Some nights she would hear a floorboard creak and instinctively look up, expecting him to walk through the door.
But he never did.
Weeks turned into months.
She stopped answering her phone.
She stopped going outside.
Some mornings she stayed in bed until noon because she couldn’t think of a single reason to get up.
Her children worried.
Her grandchildren begged her to visit.
But grief has a way of building walls nobody else can see.
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