I unlocked the front door for her.
“Hey!” She hurried in and dropped her purse and Hobby Lobby bag over the back of the couch. Once her hands were free, she turned to me and reached. Her arms came around my torso.
I hugged her back, confused on why she’d pull me into her arms, but too distracted to ask questions.
She pushed back and looked up into my face. “I would’ve done this last night but you ran…” The words died on her lips. Her hands dropped to her sides and she took a step back, a serious expression pushing out the bubbly one. “Jack? What’s wrong?”
“Something—something happened, Miranda. You might want to sit down.”
She paled. “Where’s Kacey?”
“Kacey’s fine. He’s on my bed.”
I gently led her by the elbow to the front of the couch. Pulled her down next to me. I shifted to face her. She was already breathing hard and tears brimmed in her eyes.
“You’re freaking me out, Jack. What happened?”
“When we got home, there were a lot of emergency vehicles in front of Richard’s house.” Her lips trembled and she shook her head from side to side. “He passed away a few hours ago.”
“What?”
“I’m so sorry.” My voice cracked.
“That—that can’t be. He was fine. Just earlier today.” Her voice picked up pitch. “I saw him. I wore Rose’s hat and—and we were laughing. He—he was fine!”
“Miranda, they aren’t sure what exactly happened, but they think he had a stroke. Probably a complication from the fall he had recently.”
“Jack.” My name escaped her lips with a sob. She covered her face with her hands. “Please tell me this is a bad dream.”
I reached over, letting my hand rest on her knee. “I wish it was.”
She stood, wobbling a hair, backing away from me. “I got to—” She sobbed once. Violently. Her voice strained around words. “Got to get Kacey in bed.” She sobbed again and covered her mouth.
I stood too. On the job, we delivered death notifications in person because people need the compassion of earth-shattering news delivered face to face. We were trained to be strong, present, but unaffected. This—watching someone you love suffer—was a whole different animal. One there was no manual for.
“Miranda.”
Her journey to my bedroom door deteriorated. She stopped, bent at the waist, and a cry, like a long high-pitched groan, came from her. My feet moved toward my wife before my brain decided what to do. I slipped my hand around her waist.
And she crumbled.
Onto the rug. Falling to pieces.
She sobbed, her cries muted by the floor. I gingerly rubbed her back, feeling awkward.
Before, this would be the moment I tried to force her to be okay, reassure her with empty words, plug my ears, and run.
But I couldn’t leave. This time would be different. My love for her anchored me. I hauled her up and into my lap, cradling her like a baby. She clutched my shirt and turned her face into my chest. Miranda’s entire body shuddered with her tears for a long time. I squeezed her close, resting my head against the top of hers. After a while, I scooted toward the back of the couch, leaning on it so I could hold her better.
“Jack,” she cried. “He can’t be gone.”
I said nothing. Just kissed her forehead.
“I love him so much.”
“I know you do.”
She whimpered. I tipped my chin to look down at her. Her beautiful brown eyes were red, starting to swell. Her cheeks were splotchy pink, her lips twisted. “My heart is breaking.”
