Work Text:
Sometimes Daphne despairs.
She sits alone in her house, hearing the silence of the empty rooms echoing around her, and she feels like she might be losing her mind, or her faith, or her grasp on the world.
She used to respond to that feeling by– well, by doing nothing. By sitting and letting the tears spill and feeling the emptiness inside her grow just a little wider.
Why did he leave, she’d think. Where did he go? Why did he never come back to me?
And she never had an answer.
But now that’s not what happens.
Because she has answers, some of them at least. She knows her husband was an angel, that he’d left to go help people and maybe even save the world. That he’d done it before, and he’d do it again.
And that's a comfort. Not much of one, but it helps.
But there's something else that comforts her even more. Or someone.
She stares at the phone on the kitchen wall, and at the scrap of paper in her hands, and thinks about Amelia.
Amelia, whose husband is more alike and more different from her own than she could have imagined possible.
Amelia, whose hard facade had melted into a kiss just weeks ago.
Amelia, who had left with a hug and a smile, the scrap of paper and an unbelievable story the only things she'd left in her wake.
Well, those and a Daphne changed from who she'd been just hours earlier.
Daphne picks up the phone and dials.