The house was not the same without Mary's voice in it.
Daniel could cook, sweep, wash, and keep the routines alive, but he couldn't fill the silence she left behind. The children felt it most of all, though each carried it differently.
Joshua, at twelve, tried to be strong. He started doing little things without being asked - washing the dishes, helping Caleb with his shoes, checking Grace's homework. But Daniel noticed the way he stayed up later at night, his small figure hunched by the window, staring into the dark street as if willing his mother to walk through the gate.
One night, Daniel went to him.
"She'll come back," Joshua whispered before Daniel could even speak. "She has to. Right?"
Daniel wanted to promise him, to swear it on his life. But the words lodged in his throat, heavy with uncertainty. All he could do was rest a hand on his son's shoulder and say, "I'm fighting for her."
Grace, on the other hand, carried her grief out loud. At ten, she was too young to hide her feelings. She asked questions at every meal, her small voice sharp with longing.
"Did Mum eat today?"
"Did she ask about us?"
"When can we see her?"
Each question cut Daniel open, and each time he answered, the pain in her eyes told him she didn't believe him anymore. One evening, after hearing yet another rumor at school, Grace came home and burst into tears.
"They said you made Mum sick! They said you're wicked!" She slammed her little fists on the table. "Tell me it's not true, Dad. Please."
Daniel dropped to his knees and pulled her close. "Grace," he said, his voice shaking, "I would give my own life before I'd ever hurt your mother. Do you believe me?"
She nodded through her tears, but the fear in her face lingered.
Caleb, at only four, understood the least but felt the absence the deepest. He searched for his mother everywhere. Some mornings he would toddle into the kitchen holding Mary's slippers, asking, "Where's Mummy? These are cold." Other times he would sit by the door with his toys, saying, "I'm waiting for her."
One night, when Daniel tucked him into bed, Caleb asked, "If Mummy loves us, why doesn't she come home?"
The question pierced deeper than any rumor ever could. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed until Caleb drifted to sleep, then stayed there in the dark, staring at the small rise and fall of his son's chest, feeling powerless.
The house was still filled with laughter sometimes - children are resilient, and life does not stop for grief. But there was always a moment, always, when the laughter died and the quiet returned, heavy and sharp. And in those moments, Daniel saw it clearly in their eyes: the children were holding back tears they didn't always have the strength to hide.
And no matter how strong he tried to be, he couldn't take that pain away from them.