Wallace sat at a kitchen table, numb. In his head, blue lights from the driveway still flashed.
He was finished being strong. He had held her hand as life slipped away, then made the calls, and waited while the sun rose.
Now tears trickled down, splattering in silence on the tabletop as his shaky hand poured stale coffee. How many minutes, hours, days would pass before he forgot she had asked for cream in her cuppa?
With labored breathing, his tears turned to tortured sobs, and his heart strained, forgetting its rhythm without the beat that steadied it over a lifetime.