“I can, and I do, husband.” She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. He could feel how quickly her breaths came against his skin. “You opened the world for me, Odysseus. You cracked open my cell and showed me light and love and laughter. Divine intervention may have stolen our time together, but days with you will forever be engraved upon my heart.”
Odysseus felt her fingers tremble against his clothing. Her breathing hitched. “I lost myself for a long time. I think - I didn’t know how else to be. I couldn’t be the woman you loved, not without you. And then…” she shuttered, clutching at his back. “Then it took me so long to come back to you. You were here, and you reached through time to bring me back, but I was frozen.”
Giving in to the sole reason he was placed on these lands, Odysseus turned, framing his wife’s face in his hands. “Neverfrozen, wife.” He whispered through his tears. “Steadfast. Strong. Sturdy. Never frozen.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “It took me twenty years to return to you, heart. Do not allow yourself guilt because it took you over a fortnight to return to me.”
Penelope’s eyes closed, lips quivering. “Odysseus,” her breathing steadied, one of her hands encircling his wrist. “Come,” she put a little space between them, pulling on his wrist. She stopped by the chaise, offering a smile. “Just a little more time, king. Before the sun sets.”
He moved without thinking, stretching out on the chaise, head propped up on an elbow as he made room for his wife. Penelope reclined next to him. With a soft smile, she ran a finger down the length of his jaw, as if she committed him to memory.
Odysseus found himself swallowed whole by his grief once again, sobs fighting their way out of his throat as he looked at his entire world. “Penelope,” he gasped, shutting his eyes tight.
“I waited for you, husband.” Her voice rang throughout the room, confidence spilling from her. “I waited for over twenty years to hold you in my arms again. You think I won’t wait any more?”
He felt her hands on his cheek, brushing his tears away. “And if I lose you?” He asked, airing his fears into the silence around them.
“You won’t.” Penelope tucked herself closer against his side, tangling her legs with his. She cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down to lie beside her. “I cannot believe that even after all this time,” another brush of her thumb, “Odysseus of Ithaca doubts his wife’s patience.”
He settled his arm across her middle, holding her tight against him. “Say it again,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into the space behind her ear. “Say it again for me, wife.”
“You will never lose me, Odysseus.”
His lips tugged upward, inhaling the scent of her. Her fingers continued to trail along his skin, across his ear, through this hair, down his throat. Her touch was featherlight and carried the heaviest weight he could have imagined. He was anchoring himself in her touch.
He couldn’t help himself. He dropped his lips to hers gently, relishing in the way she gasped under his kiss. Odysseus fought back a smirk as his hand rested on her cheek, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss. Penelope’s fingers twisted in his tunic, further grounding him in her.
The light of the setting sun covered them like a blanket. Odysseus was thankful that his wife had pulled him out of his head, forced him to face the grief head on. If he had spent his last night with her doing anythingbutbeing wrapped up in her arms, it would have been a waste.
They exchanged gentle kisses, soft touches. Half-formed thoughts whispered through tears. Fingers intertwined in hair, reminiscing on memories passed.
“Wife,” He shattered the illusion of eternity, turning her chin towards him. “It’s time.”
She shook her head, eyes filling up with tears once more. He felt the warmth of her hand falter as it rested on his chest, the way it trembled ever so slightly. Her breathing grew shallow, and for a moment, the weight of her silence pressed against him like the slow descent of nightfall.
“Penelope…” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek in an attempt to pull her back, to hold her steady. But her eyes closed, her face a mask of something unreadable, and his heart seized.
The seconds between them stretched tight with a tension neither could avoid. He pulled her closer, but she didn’t yield the way she had before. Her body stayed rigid in his arms, as ifthe very act of drawing nearer might splinter her already fragile heart.
“I wish…” His voice broke, words dying in the hush of their shared grief. He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought. “I wish we had more time.”
Her hand fell away from his chest, and he felt the sudden emptiness of it. That small gesture, so simple, so slight, cut through him with a force that nearly stole his breath. And for what felt like the first time, Odysseus realized, deeply and painfully, that he would have to let her go.
She rose, pulling her legs to the side of the chaise. He followed, hand steady on the small of her back. “Let us go, wife,” he spoke through rising tears, a tightness in his chest. “Telemachus waits.”
She turned her head away from him, but he saw in the lurching of her shoulders that she was crying again. Odysseus moved his hand, tangling his fingers in the far side of her hair. Gently, he pulled her to him. She shook her head against him, but reached up to squeeze his hand. “Okay,” she whispered, eyes shut tight. “Okay.”
He didn’t remember walking to their son’s room, or the path that they took. He remembered holding her, though. He remembered the feel of her hands on his arm, the gentle lilt of her laughter when he bent down to whisper in her ear. He remembered the sad smile that she gave him as they turned the corner, and the way her breath hitched as his knuckles wrapped on Telemachus’ door.
When the door opened, their son stood there, his expression unreadable, but the familiar light in his eyes faltered as they fell upon his mother. Penelope didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence was thick, suffocating.
Then, finally, her voice came, soft, fragile. “My son…” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.
“What is happening?” He asked, eyes darting between his parents rapidly.
“Things have changed, son,” Odysseus said. His son stepped aside, gesturing for the pair to enter.
“How?”
“Tonight is -” Penelope tried, but her voice faltered.
