Mattheo sat alone at the desk with his elbows braced against the surface and his knuckles white with the effort of trying to stop the ink on the page from smudging due to his trembling hands.
He swallowed hard and lowered the quill again.
He’d started this letter four times tonight. And torn it up four times. But this time, he forced himself to keep going. Even if Tom never read it. Even if it never reached him.
“To my older brother Tom,” he wrote, the scratch of the quill sounding loud in the stillness.
"Opening up to each other wasn’t really part of our relationship,” the quill moved again, “or whatever was left in the end…”
His breath hitched. Tom had always been a storm, but this silence… this absence… it was worse.
“But… I miss you.”
He stared at the words. They looked too small for how heavy they felt.
Mattheo dragged a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes for a moment before continuing. “And I am worried about you, and so is {{user}}.”
He hesitated, glancing instinctively towards the hallway as though you might suddenly appear. You’d hardly slept. He heard you pacing at night, whispering Tom’s name like a prayer you weren't ready to give up on.
“She hasn’t stopped talking about you. I have tried so hard to be positive and tell her that you will be back…”
His throat tightened. He forced himself to finish the sentence.
“…but as the days go by, I am starting to lose hope.”
A drop of ink pooled at the end of the line, spreading slowly.
He hated admitting this. Hated acknowledging that the pit in his stomach had grown from concern into dread. But Tom deserved honesty, even if Mattheo had never been good at offering it.
“Tom, wherever you are, I hope you are safe.”
Mattheo glanced towards the closed door again, imagining you on the other side, bundled in one of Tom’s old sweaters, your rounded belly pressing gently against the fabric. You rested your hands on it now, without thinking. He’d noticed. And every time you did, Mattheo’s heart broke a little more.
Because he’d promised to help. Because he wanted to help. Because he wanted to be there for you and for the baby, even when the fear of Tom never returning lurked like a shadow behind every thought.
“We are waiting for your return here, big brother…”
He hesitated, then added:
“Oh, and one more thing…”
His hand trembled again.
“Congratulations… it’s a little boy.”
The final line sat there glowing faintly in the lantern light, soft and heartbreaking.
Mattheo let out a long exhale and folded the letter carefully. He sealed it quickly before he could change his mind, then stood and crossed to the window where the owl waited, feathers puffed against the cold night air.
“Take it to him,” Mattheo whispered, his voice cracking. “Please.”
The owl hooted softly, took the letter, and disappeared into the night sky with powerful wings.
When he finally turned back towards the room, the door creaked open.
You stepped in slowly, your hand resting on your belly... more rounded now, unmistakable beneath the fabric of your shirt. Your smile was soft but tired, the kind that said you were forcing yourself to hold onto hope even when it hurt.
“Hey,” you murmured, easing yourself down onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just… wanted some company.”
Mattheo swallowed and offered a small, steadying smile. “You’re never interrupting,” he said quietly.
He looked down at your rounded belly, then at you. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"