Black and White

Instinctively, as she had every morning since he left, she reached across the bed. Her hand searched the empty space where he should have been, fingers brushing only cool sheets. Eyes still closed, she leaned toward his pillow, hoping for the faintest trace of him. She loved the way he smelled—earthy, steady. Not sweat, not anything sharp or fleeting. If warmth could have a scent, if safety could linger in the air, it was that.

When she finally opened her eyes, the room was still wrapped in darkness. An hour before sunrise. Too early for the world, but not for her. Sleep had become something shallow and unreliable in the month since he’d gone. Most things had.

That was when the color left.

It hadn’t happened all at once. At least, she didn’t think so. But one day she noticed the reds were duller, the greens no longer stirred anything in her chest, and the sky—once so wide and alive—had flattened into something distant and gray. Now everything lived in that same muted palette. The world had drained itself of brilliance, leaving behind a quiet, colorless ache.

They had been married for fifty-five years.

Fifty-five years of mornings like this one, though never like this. Fifty-five years of shared glances, of small routines, of laughter that filled the spaces between words. He hadn’t just been part of her life—he had shaped it, deepened it, given it weight. With him, everything seemed to matter more.

She could still remember the first time she saw him.

It had felt absurd, even then—like stepping into a cartoon where everything shimmered just a little too brightly. Blues deepened. Yellows warmed. The world came into focus as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes. Before him, things had seemed distant, softened, as if she were always standing just outside her own life. But he had pulled her into it. Made it vivid. Made it real.

And for fifty-five years, they had lived inside that color together—each of them reflecting something back to the other, brightening what might have otherwise faded.

Three children, countless pets, multiple trips to the emergency room were a big part of their lives. She was lost in all those moments. Who fell off a bike. Who got hit with a bat, What pup or cat or lizard needed attention or a shot. The countless times she ran to the grocery store, the drug store, the department store-all these moments were never dull. Always the bright spots of her life. She loved her job and even took on more work when the kids went to school.

She loved each moment, each inconvenience, each problem because in the end she knew he was there. He supported her in everything she wanted to do.

She had heard her friends talk about their respective partners as if they were roommates. The other mothers would get together once a week at the Waffle House and exchange stories. They would talk about their husbands and all their shortfalls but not once did she ever join in. All she could do was smile. There were times her friends would ask, “so tell us. He has to have some flaws. There has to be something he does to annoy you.” She would always just sit there and smile while basking in the colors that were him.

There was nothing she could not accomplish knowing he was by her side. It was the undying support he gave her. The faith and light of his being that made life so worth living.

Early on they had talked about birthdays and holidays and gifts, but they both came to the same conclusion almost at the same time. Neither of them would buy a gift on any holiday because their love was every day, so they would buy a gift on any day. If he saw something he thought she would like, he’d buy it. If she was out and saw something that reminded her of him, she would buy it.

Eventually the kids moved out and as with most couples the house might have felt a bit empty but not in their case. The house was filled with love. Their love. A love untarnished by adversity, pain and tears. Yes, there were tough times but never once did she ever imagine herself facing those tough times alone. She knew that if she reached out her hand, without asking, he would be there with an outstretched arm and would pull her close, as she would do for him. It was magical.

There were times before he got sick that they would go out and she would hear people say, “What a beautiful couple.” She knew they glowed. It was quite evident that their light doubled when they were together. Her kids used to say that they needed sunglasses whenever their parents were in the same room.

He relied on her as much as she relied on him. There was no foundation stronger than their love. 55 years of love, color and light. And now that’s all gone. The color has washed away and the light has dimmed. She still loves but it’s without a touch. A glance. A whisper or wink.

Now she sat up slowly, the bed creaking beneath her. Shadows shifted along the walls as she rubbed her eyes and swung her legs to the floor. Her bones protested the movement, stiff and reluctant. She stood anyway, steadying herself, and made her way to the window.

The shade rasped softly as she pulled it back.

She paused, as if expecting something—some flicker of that old brilliance waiting just beyond the glass.

But there was nothing.

Only the quiet outline of the world in gray. Trees without depth. Sky without warmth. A landscape that seemed to hold its breath.

She rested her hand against the windowpane. Once, she had dreamed in color. Even in sleep, life had bloomed around her in impossible hues. Now, even there, the color had gone.

He had been her color.

The whole spectrum of it.

And without him, the world remained—unchanged, unmoved—but emptied of everything that had ever made it shine.