Everyone watching the duel froze as Hector's sword went past Achilles shield. I gripped the stone wall so hard my knuckles began to turn white, my breath caught in my throat. Could it be possible? Could my husband have managed to kill the fabled hero Achilles?

We could not see whether the blade had gone through the Greek warrior, we could only wait to see if he fell. But the gods were not so kind on that day, Achilles pulled the sword from Hector's hand and pushed him away. My husband's foot caught on a stone and he fell. I could not bear to watch any longer. I turned away and sank to the ground, unable to do anything. Agonizing suspense filled my body, I knew only one thing could happen now.

Helen crouched beside me her arms on my shoulders as she looked out to watch the fight. Oh, how I wanted to hate her, how I wanted to blame her for the pain and grief she had caused me; but I couldn't. I knew she loved Paris with the same unconditional, hopeless devotion that I loved Hector with. I knew she'd had no control over her decision to leave her home, that Aphrodite had possessed her heart, and she would not in a thousand years have wanted this. And then the world went still, and I knew.

I gasped as I felt a deep ache burn in my own chest, Hector was dead. Helen looked at me with panic in her eyes, I felt her lean her head against me, and I didn't push her away. I needed to feel the solidity of another person grounding me, to keep me from either exploding or evaporating. So I lay torn between those two opposing forces, sobbing though no tears came. The shock was too deep for tears, too all consuming; I had no energy to truly cry.

I don't know how long I sat there, with Helen's arms around me—long enough for Achilles to drag the body of my dear husband away behind his chariot—but after some time I rose, leaning against Helen who guided me back to my room. Only the nurse was in my rooms, I held my arms out for her to give me my child and bade her leave. She nodded and did so quickly. I walked over and slowly sank down on the bed, a bed that only a few hours earlier I had shared that was now mine alone. I clutched my infant son, all I had left of my beloved Hector, against me, and let out I wail of grief.