The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

Opening the front door to my house, I breathe in the familiar scent of my own home: old cooking, incense and…

Her.

I quickly shut out the smells. Over the past few months, I've shut down all my other senses: I guess my sense of smell was only the next in what would be a logical equation.

A process of elimination.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a rustling sound behind me. I quickly turn and my mother-in-law stares back at me in surprise. I'd forgotten she was there.

"Michael?" she questions. In her arms, a tiny bundle squirms and then whines heartily.

My son.

I turn my back quickly, the sight of the two of them making the reality of things all too clear. Taking the key out of the lock, I quickly step over the threshold of the front door and enter the living room. Shrugging off my jacket I throw it onto one of the lounge chairs, where it drapes haphazardly.

Jenni would've hated that. Everything always had to be in its own place.

Jenni.

At the thought of her name I seize mentally, throwing up a mental guard against her name. I don't think I could bear to think it.

Feeling more numb than ever, the living room still in darkness, I half turn towards my mother-in-law.

"I'll get dinner on," I say stiffly. In my half-view, I see her nod.

"All right. Do you want me to do anything?"

I shake my head jerkily and head towards the kitchen. Moving through the quiet house, I realise the house has a sense of not being lived in for some time. As if the occupants had had to move out for a while.

As if one of them had gotten very sick and ended up in hospital, and their partner had kept a constant vigil by their bedside.

To no avail.

Reaching the sink, I automatically reach for the potatoes and peeler and begin working. From the living room I can hear my mother-in-law cooing to the baby, the baby giggling in response.

The sound is wrong. Obscene. Laughter doesn't belong here anymore.

It died with my wife.

The thought slices through me and I shudder.

Looking down I realise my hands have stopped peeling. I stare at them for a moment before I gather up the potatoes in the sink and unceremoniously dump them in the garbage. I turn on my heels and reach under the sink for the bottle of whiskey I keep hidden. Jenni knew about it, but she always pretended she didn't. One of my secret vices.

But none of that matters. Now.

Pouring a glass full, I head back into the living room and take a seat. My mother-in-law's eyes follow me while she feeds my son from the bottle of baby food she has.

"Where's dinner?" she enquires mildly.

"Not hungry," I say flatly, taking a gulp of my drink.

She nods silently. There's a few minutes silence while I stare into nothing, the hole in my stomach becoming larger and larger.

Everything reminds me of her. From the photos of our wedding on mantle, to the wallpaper she picked. Even our son reminds me of her.

"Should I bathe him?" my mother-in-law interrupts my thoughts again and I cut my eyes to her. She gestures to the baby again and my heart jerks.

I can't even bear to look at him.

She takes my silence as a yes and rises from the floor, taking my son with her.

"You should eat, Michael." Her eyes pierce me. "You need to keep up your strength."

I snort. Strength for what? I don't even bother to reply, and she sighs.

"I'm going to stay with you for a few days. You need my help."

Again I don't reply and this time she goes to leave the room, my son with her. She's almost out of the room when I call to her.

"Marie?"

She turns. "Yes?"

"Turn out the lights as you go, will you?"

Again she stares at me, her eyes filled with tears. "I miss her, too."

I don't reply: Instead I stare stonily ahead.

She lets out a small sob, and reaches out with one hand to flick off the lights. The room falls into darkness.

"Goodnight, Michael."

As soon as she's gone, I sink back into my chair and stare into the empty fireplace. Taking a big swig from my drink, the hole in my stomach widens and widens, filling every part of my body.

I can see her face.

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out the images, but they come unbidden of my wishes. The day Jenni found out she had cancer. Aggressive, they'd said. Hard to treat, they'd said.

All the hours at the hospital. The smell of the lemon disinfectant they used on the floors. The long days and sleepless nights. All the while never leaving the bedside of the one I'd loved. Praying and hoping and bargaining with God that maybe, just maybe, she'd be the exception and fight the disease surely thrust upon man by the devil himself. Watching her get weaker and weaker. Until finally, only a few hours ago, my Jenni had stopped fighting.

I want her.

I need her.

The hole in me begins to ache. I shake my head in the darkness. She can't be gone. It's so permanent.

A scream rips into my thoughts and I sit bolt upright in the dark. It takes me a moment to realise it's my son who's wailing.

Her face is everywhere. I can't get it out of my mind. In the darkness, she swirls around me: her scent, her soul, her spirit.

I lean back in my chair. Marie will get him.

But he continues to scream.

And still I'm too tired to move.

I don't want to go on. I can't go on. I can't.

I won't.

I feel a horrible desperation well up inside of me. What do I do? What can I do?

My son's screams increase in volume. And still Marie doesn't go to him.

She won't go to him. Because she wants me to.

"No," I whisper. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be me. I was supposed to go first."

My body feels like lead.

My son's wails reach a heartbreaking pitch, his tone reaching a new timbre. I force myself out of my chair, and shuffle through the darkened house to his room.

He's standing in his cot, his chubby hands grabbing the bars for support. His face is screwed up, his face bright red, tiny tears pouring down his plump little face.

When he sees me he quiets somewhat but continues to cry, making sniffling baby noises.

I reach down and slowly pick him up into my arms. He quiets immediately, his face staring into mine, and slowly I wipe away his tears. I don't make a sound and either does he. For a moment, we just stare at each other, father and son, and I realise that he looks very much like his mother.

My eyes fill with tears as, for the first time since her death, I speak her name.

"Jen. You're going to miss so much."

I carry him to the rocker in the corner of his room and sit down. Jenni used to love to nurse him here. Many a time I'd wake up in the middle of the night and come in here to find her rocking him gently back to sleep, or otherwise just sitting and watching him.

My heart aches.

I look down at my son as I slowly begin to rock the chair, patting him gently. He gives a soft, baby sigh and his eyes start to close.

My own eyes are still filled with tears as I look beyond the window and out into the night beyond. The moon hangs low in the sky, and is almost full. It seems right, somehow. Fitting. All things change.

There's a sudden rustling noise and Marie shuffles into view and leans against the doorway, dressed in her slippers and robe. I look up.

"You needed to do this." She indicates my son, who's sleeping soundly in my arms.

I nod. "I know."

Marie approaches me, and I can see she's been crying. "You miss her very much."

"Yes." My voice is a whisper as I feel a burning at the back of my throat.

"I miss her too."

"I don't know how I'm going to go on without her," I say after a moment's hesitation.

"It's going to be hard, Michael." Marie is watching me again with those eyes of hers. "Every day is going to be a struggle. But you have to do it. If not for yourself – then for your son."

We both look down at my baby boy, who looks so much like his mother. I nod.

"My son," I repeat. I look up. "And for Jen."

Marie nods, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye and snaking down her cheek. She pats me once on the shoulder and leaves the room, leaving me to put him back into his cot.

And yet I don't. I look back down at my son.

"It's just you and me," I whisper to him. He doesn't stir. "I won't let you forget her."

I look up again at the moon as it shines brightly through the window, and feel a single tear slip, hot, down my face.

"Goodnight, Jenni," I murmur. "Wherever you are."