Gloria

She didn't hear the text come, but when she looked down at it, her eyes widened. It was from Frank.

"I'm coming home," it said.

She stood there and looked at it for a long time. Then her eyes went to the previous message. It also said, "I'm coming home." It must have been a fluke, where Frank's carrier had resent his last message for some weird reason. She'd heard about this happening to other people.

She looked at the message, one hand against her abdomen, against the child that grew inside her, and she wished with everything she could that it was true.

And then she slumped down into a chair and cried, not wishing to live in an impossible fantasy.  There would be no more Frank. No more silly jokes, no more surprise bouquets of flowers, no more pizzas with their favorite toppings comingled, no more late nights of him reading Ogden Nash poems to her. 

If Frank couldn't be here for their child, she'd just make sure to tell the child all about him, and in a way, she'd bring him, if only just a part, home.