Chapter 62: Diogo

For days my wife is a listless shell of herself. The only things that she's willing to show any interest in is her tomato plant and the baby birds. She doesn't eat more than a few bites of food and wouldn't have bothered showering if I hadn't stripped the clothes from her body and cleaned her myself. In fact, she's done very little without my direct intervention except wander to the roof and stare out at the city or watch the baby birds.

I've been more than patient, allowing her to grieve for a man that was nothing to her. Nothing to us. I tell myself she's not grieving for him, but for his memory. She's grieving for the first person in Sanctuary to take her in and show her any kind of family. For the few things that they shared in common and for the rebellion.