The Candles
I peer through the window at the dark house across the street.
“Hey, Honey, why does Mrs. Callum light candles in her window every night?”
My wife comes to my side. “I think she’s waiting for her husband to come home from the war.”
“But didn’t he die decades ago?”
She nods slowly, her eyes moist. “Every evening he comes home, if only in her mind.”
I watch the tiny golden flames flicker in her window for a man long gone, but never forgotten by the woman who has loved him all these years.
I hope he comes home tonight.
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