She guarded the empty house like a faded promise. The rain pattered outside the window, but it couldn't cover up the silence in the house. She wiped the photo every day, and her fingertips brushed across his smile, but could not touch a trace of warmth. Marriage became her one-man show, and the audience had already left. She counted the red circles on the calendar, waiting for a phone call that would never ring. The roses on the bedside have withered, but they still bloom stubbornly, waiting for the rain that will never come. She no longer expected, but was still waiting for a miracle.
