Excerpt from A Soldier's Christmas
“I’d sing you a lullaby, my love, if I had a song. But my voice is weak and I have no rhythm.” Anna stroked her baby’s face, then gazed out the darkened window, a longing in her eyes. The world around her seemed distant and lonley, and sounds were soft and muted—as if she were wrapped up tight in cotton.
Anna gazed into the face of her baby and a tear rolled down her cheek. “In the morning, we’ll go home and you’ll meet your daddy,” she said. Then she placed him in the bassinette and lay down to sleep.
Morning came much too quickly. When the sun’s rays seeped into the room, Anna gathered her infant son and their belongings, and checked out of the hospital. She drove the short miles to her small home, the home she shared—had shared—with her husband. A Christmas wreath hung on the door, and baskets of flowers covered the front steps. She was grateful for the thoughts and wishes, but she left them in place. She couldn’t bear to read the sentiments right now.
Inside, she noticed the undecorated tree and the boxes of ornaments still strewn on the floor. The room was so still, so silent.