It’s bitter and burns your lungs as you slowly make your way through your shared home.
Your fingers run over the mantel for the TV Stand, although the stand used to belong to you, it looks better here. You slowly wipe away the dust that outlined the framed pictures you had resting on the mantel. Pictures of your wedding, your beautiful dress, Simon who stood at the alter. Although he wore a surgical mask, you knew him, knew he was smiling. His teammates, his Captain and Sergeants, stood slightly behind him.
You took the pictures, hid them in an old photo album that now sits in the trunk of your car. The car you picked out with Simon, you wanted something small, he wanted you to have something like a tank.
A hiccup runs through your chest before you can stop it.
The tears soon soaked your face as you walked through a home that was no longer yours. You didn’t want it to end this way. On your wedding day you imagined a porch swing with two beautiful kids and your husband beside you. In that dream scenario, Simon would be retired, but you slowly learned it would only be a dream. Never reality.
Two weeks ago, before his latest mission he left for last week, you sat him down. You were excited, you started to ramble about your future together and maybe a baby soon. Your mind was moving too fast for you to look up at Simon from across the couch. He looked like a deer in headlights, the scar on his lip made him frown more menacing.
Soon, a fight started, mostly it was him ranting, rumbling about not leaving his team. How he had a duty, an honor, how kids would ruin that. How you would ruin that. In his rant he called you silly, arrogant for thinking he could leave his team.
Now, where do you find yourself? Dumping things out of your nightstand and tossing them into boxes, while he was on a mission.
An hour soon passed, your tears had dried and stained your cheeks, your eyes puffy and red. It was agonizing, signing those papers. The papers that now marked the marriage and life you wanted with him over. The documents needed now lay on the kitchen table with a pen next to it, for him to sign when he returned.
Your arms curled around your body as you disabled the safety system Simon insisted on. You slowly exited and closed the door, locking it and placing the key on your front porch chair. A note you wrote for him, explaining the papers and your dissertation, was hidden underneath the door mat.
A slow breath left your lips, the air was still cold, bone chilling and bitter. But the promise of better days, the life you longed for, pushed you towards your car. Your car would carry you away from here, the house you could no longer call a home.
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