Kelpthegreat

It has been months since I last saw you. Haven't you noticed? The children are wondering where have you been. The bed felt empty, and despite your skin felt cold, you found warmth between our embrace. I miss the smell of earl grey in your lips, your green, jaded eyes looking at me, and our conversations together in our study. I always prefer silence, but without you, it felt empty. Remember the day you walked my across that river, to the forests with a blindfold carefully wrapped around my eyes, surprising me this very mansion? I could never forget, in that moment, you would do everything for me.

The loss of our son was never easy. Your heart became cold, but I never gave up loving you. I carried my love like embers to my hands to the voids of your heart, even if i felt like I was the one burning. Our love was not extravagant, but i find comfort in your quiet demeanor. I understood you that no one ever could. Despite my sorrow, you never stopped convincing me that I am one, strong, woman. Remember how i would straighten your coat before you left, how my fingers linger enough to tell you to be careful?

How foolish I was. To leave you out there, all alone at night. I wish I had came with you, and despite my protests, you insisted that i should stay. After all, I am the mother of my children. I saw the way you were gentle of pulling me away, the way your eyes had faded grey yet held a small smile across your face. You were never the one to smile.

But that night, you did.

A small, fleeting smile—one that I barely caught before the darkness swallowed you whole. I should have known. I should have recognized it for what it was—a farewell disguised as reassurance. But I let you go, didn’t I? I let you slip through my fingers like water, and now, I am left drowning in the silence you left behind.

The halls feel colder without you. The children still ask for you, their voices laced with curiosity at first, then with something quieter. Something heavier. They don’t know what it means for a man to vanish without a trace, but I do. I see it in their eyes when they think I’m not looking—the slow, dawning realization that you might never come back.

I don’t tell them what I truly think. That you are gone. That you may never return. That I wake up every morning hoping to hear your footsteps outside our room, only to be met with stillness. That I keep setting out a second cup of tea, only to watch it grow cold, untouched.

I try to be strong, as you always said I was. I gather the children in the drawing room, tell them stories before bed, mend their clothes, run my fingers through their hair like a mother should. I remind myself that this was the life you gave me—the life we built together.

But at night, when the house settles into its restless quiet, I let myself miss you.

I sit in your chair in the study, tracing the grain of the wood with absent fingers, remembering the nights we spent here. The long discussions, the shared silences, the way your presence alone could anchor me even in my grief. I press my forehead to the desk and wonder if you will ever return to me, or if I am simply chasing the ghost of a man who has already been lost to the world.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the last warmth of your hand against mine. I can still hear your voice, low and steady, telling me that I am strong. That I must keep going.

But, Kollsvein—