Play Dead- passage V

Another day of freedom. It was refreshing, much like the rare breezes of this stagnant, bloated summer. I thought that time of such suppressive desperation would never cease, never end, it would spiral on until that bastard pulled the trigger. Or I did.
Now I had a new life. My life. My own man to love, and his grace growing inside of me. I clutched my hands over the tiny bump and thought, of the only other time, I had been this content in life. Before he changed.
He used to be so amorous, so tender-hearted, so steadfast. He used to give a fucking care about me first and the rest of this damn life second. Then he joined the army, became a soldier, went to war. He said that he ''wanted to be something that his wife could be proud of'. To come home a hero and have stories for our children.'' We had no children.
The only story he gave was when he broke down, through drunken, unhinged sobs. About how his foot-patrol were ambushed in a land untouched by God. About how he watched his friends get blown from this life in a harrowing salvo of hellfire and shrapnel. In a crimson haze of gore and pleading screams. That was the day the light died his eyes. The day I no longer mattered.