Member-only story
The Swans
Swans mate for life, with only death able to part them. Or bring them together.
It had been a long and exhausting day for Virginia. The grandchildren had come to help clear out Grandpa’s belongings from the garage. The girls had wanted to help Gram with his clothes, but Ginny — her beloved Charlie’s unique name for her — needed to do that alone. Some things were too sacred to share.
That evening, after the children left, she went to the bedroom she and Charlie had shared for fifty-two years. Turning on the bedside lamp, she sat on his side of the bed. His warmth lingered there as if time had refused to steal it away. Her fingers trailed absently across the nightstand, brushing against his pipe where it lay, waiting. Just like she still was.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the drawer for the first time since he had gone. She had always left his space untouched — his mementos from the war, the little trinkets that only he understood, and the journal he had written in every night with quiet devotion.
Her hand trembled as she touched the smooth, worn leather cover. Closing her eyes, she saw him there again — hunched over at the desk by the window, his pipe smoldering in the ashtray. His pen moved purposefully, as if the words might vanish if he didn’t capture them in time.
