Slowly she opens de door, step inside, and close it quietly behind her.
She stops in the hallway and listens, but hears nothing, she’s alone, and her husband is still away.
With tensed footsteps she walks to the bedroom and lie down on the bed, grab a pillow and hold it tight.
Slowly big tears fall down her face, her whole body shaking. Finally she can let go, safe in her own home.
“Don’t they think it hurts, hearing what they say about me?” she thinks to her self.
She lays there, alone in the dark, feeling so dirty.
“How can they believe that about me, they don’t even know me, but still they think they have right to judge me.” Tears keep falling.
For weeks she has listened to people talk behind her back, pretending that she doesn’t hear, pretended that it don’t hurt, but it does, every word cuts deep into her soul.
After a while the tears stop falling and dry up, but she still lay there on the bed, in the dark.
“That is not me, I am not what they think I am.” She thinks to her self.
“But what can I do to make them realise this? How can I make them understand?”
Hours pass, and the sun starts to rise.
She thinks of her husband, up there in Inferno, hoping he is safe, and wanting him to be home with her, and starts feeling selfish for wanting him there so much when she knows he is needed elsewhere.
“Come home soon my love” she whispers out into the dawn light bedroom, and slowly drifts of to sleep, still in armour, still hugging the pillow tight.
))
