The Widow's Mind

She stood at the top of her house, the sea breeze rustling through her fine brown hair. Upon the sun’s brief returns, there was a tint of yellow and red, hitting her tight bun so, it created a halo above her head. Under her cloak, she wore the traditional widow’s black, a stern expression on her face. Daffodil Unistentasious watched the goings-on of the children beneath, her green-blue eyes pooling water.

The port has another ship arriving, tying to the dock. More Navy Officers were greeted by their families. Daffodil allowed a moment of hope, too soon crushed by reality. Seven months ago, Thomas Unistentasious had promised her a child. A year ago, they were wed. "Forever" had been their oaths but this forever was not long enough.

He had wedded her out of love. She was lucky she didn’t need to wed for money. Instead, Daffodil Alice Smith married the blacksmith, Thomas Ulric Unistentasious, and was disowned. Naturally, they had quickly become the talk of the small town.

She knew she wasn’t the prettiest girl as he knew he wasn’t the richest man but both knew the other had a good heart and spent most of their courting days speaking through paper. Through that, they fell.

Their life together wasn’t always rainbows and smiles. Through arguments, Thomas would drink heavily until Daffodil cried from neglect. Then, he would return to her, charming as he could be. That’s how he received his nickname — Charming.

Daffodil returned to his stock and poured herself a glass. She finished the first, dropping the second and covered her mouth. Her stomach twisted in knots as she sat in a chair, the choked sobs starting.

Two months prior to his second departure, Daffodil told him of another man’s courting. She had planned to pretend to think it over and return to Thomas the next morning. She was flattered and wanted to surprise Thomas with her choice.

Thomas, however, became dark and moody. Many nights he would come home, accuse her of cheating and become a blubbering mess that she couldn’t help. On the rare occasions he was sober, he would avoid her by attending to his fellow seamen. Daffodil understood the boundary she had crossed.

She returned with the bottle, her hands shaking and pictured the rest. After two weeks at sea, he returned quite ill. Afraid he would hate her, she remained distant, bearing no news until she couldn’t take it. On the eve of New Years, he was pronounced dead.

Daffodil pointlessly wiped her face with her handkerchief. If only I had talked sense to him… If only I visited him… But now it’s too late. She slipped off one shoe.

The months afterward, friends and other wives spread their condolences. "In a way, it’s worse," she explained. "Over there, you pray and want them safe. Home is where they’re meant to be safe."

Then, their attitudes changed.

First was the gossip who told her she could remarry. It escalated only a few days later to should by her best friend.

Daffodil slipped off the other shoe. “If I did, our vows and lives would mean nothing.”

She finished the bottle and stood at the edge, gathering her strength. Her hand felt warm. She looked and smiled at Thomas. He smiled back. He kissed her hand. She wiped her blurring vision but he still stood, indicating his unhappiness in her decision. She squeezed his hand. “Always your Butterfly.”

They screamed and ran inside. Her friends cried, reiterating their stories that ended with “if only.”