The wind tugged at Emma Callahan's coat as she stood near the edge of the tarmac. Her hands rested on her belly, not yet rounded, but already full of meaning. A line of military transport planes stretched across the airbase, their engines humming in the early morning light. Around her, families murmured quiet goodbyes, some holding back tears, others clinging to last touches, last words. The sun had only just begun to rise, casting a pale orange glow across the flat landscape.
Luke stood in front of her, his uniform pressed, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He had that same serious expression he'd worn since his orders came through—focused, composed, trying to be strong for both of them. Emma knew that look well. It was the one he wore when he was scared but determined not to show it. She had seen it before, during his last deployment, but this time it felt different. This time, they had more at stake.
"You sure you'll be okay?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His hand lingered for a second longer than usual, his eyes searching hers for reassurance.
Emma nodded, eyes locked on his. "Yeah. Jake and Ryan will check in. I'll be fine."
Luke gave a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "They better."
She tried to smile back. "You better, too."
They stood like that for a moment, unsure of what to say. So much had already been said in the weeks leading up to today. They had gone over the plans, the checklists, the what-ifs. But no amount of preparation could quiet the ache of parting.
Emma leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. She breathed him in—that mix of laundry detergent and aftershave she knew so well. Luke held her close, his hand resting protectively on her back.
"I'll write. As much as I can," he whispered.
She nodded into his shoulder. "I know."
His hand moved down and paused over her stomach. "Tell them... when you're ready."
Emma pulled back just enough to see his face. "I will. I promise."
A voice crackled over the loudspeakers, calling the next group to board. Luke glanced toward the gate, then back at her. His eyes were glassy, though he didn't cry.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you more," she replied softly.
They kissed, a quiet press of lips that carried everything unspoken. Fear. Hope. The unknown.
Then he turned, walking toward the plane with sure steps. He didn't look back, and Emma understood why. If he did, he might not be able to go.
She stood still as the engines roared to life. The plane rose into the sky, and with it, a part of her heart.
When it disappeared into the clouds, Emma pressed both hands to her stomach. The baby, only ten weeks along, fluttered quietly inside. She wasn't showing yet, but she had already talked to the little one in the stillness of the night.
"It's just us now," she whispered. "We're going to be okay."
The morning had grown colder. Emma walked slowly back toward her car, her breath puffing in soft white clouds. Other families moved around her, some wiping tears, others clinging to children. She felt the same ache as them, but deeper in a way. She wasn't just saying goodbye to her husband. She was stepping into a year of firsts without him.
The drive home was quiet. Emma kept the radio off, letting the hum of the tires fill the silence. The roads were mostly empty, the sun climbing higher but still soft. She passed familiar fields and barns, the land flat and open. Everything looked the same, but she felt different. As if something had shifted inside her the moment Luke walked away.
Back at the house, she let herself in and stood in the entryway, coat still on, keys in hand. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket. The house was clean, just as they'd left it. The coffee pot sat unused, and the bed had been made tight that morning, a habit Luke insisted on. She kicked off her shoes and walked through the living room, her fingers brushing the back of the couch, the edge of the picture frames. Everything had its place. Everything looked normal.
She sat down slowly on the couch and exhaled. The quiet pressed in. She reached for her phone, scrolled through her messages, then set it down again. There was nothing new. She stared at the blank screen, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
A knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find her neighbor, Mrs. Jennings, standing there with a small casserole dish in her hands.
"I saw you come in," the older woman said. "Thought you might want something warm."
Emma managed a tired smile. "Thank you. That's really kind."
Mrs. Jennings stepped inside, glancing around the quiet house. "I know it's hard. When my husband shipped out years ago, I remember feeling like the air had gone out of the room."
Emma nodded. "It feels like that."
The woman placed the dish on the kitchen counter and gave Emma a soft pat on the arm. "You call me if you need anything, all right? Day or night."
"I will. Thank you."
After she left, Emma reheated a small portion and sat at the table. She barely tasted the food. Her mind drifted to Luke. Was he already in the air? Was he thinking of her? She pictured him in a cramped seat, staring out a small window, the noise of the plane drowning out his thoughts. She hoped he wasn't alone. That someone beside him was kind.
After cleaning up, she wandered into the nursery. It wasn't finished. A few folded onesies sat on the dresser, a rocking chair in the corner, and the crib unassembled, the pieces still in the box. Luke had planned to put it together when he got back. They had talked about colors, laughed about the ridiculous themes online. But they hadn't made any decisions yet.
She sat in the rocking chair and gently swayed, her hand on her stomach. "I guess it's up to me now," she said quietly. The thought scared her, but it also gave her purpose.
Later that night, she curled into bed, hugging one of Luke's shirts. It still smelled like him. She turned off the light but didn't sleep for a long time. Her mind kept circling back to the image of him walking away, of the plane lifting into the sky, of the long months ahead.
But eventually, she drifted off. The house stayed quiet, the wind whispering outside. And in her sleep, Emma dreamed of sunlight, of homecomings, and of small feet running across the floor.
Tomorrow, she would make a list. Tomorrow, she would call Jake and Ryan. Tomorrow, she would start figuring it all out.
But for tonight, she let herself rest.