Simon’s been missing for months.
At first, it was panic. Sleepless nights. Missed calls. You paced the kitchen floor like a ghost, heart hammering with every unknown number that lit up your phone. Maybe something happened. Maybe he was hurt. Or worse.
But that was before you called the base.
Before some stone-cold voice on the other end told you your husband hadn’t gone missing he’d been deployed. Four months ago. Without a word. No note. No goodbye. No explanation. He left like a shadow and didn’t look back.
And now you’re just angry.
Livid.
Because the man you trusted with your life didn’t even have the decency to tell you he was leaving.
It’s a little after 1 a.m. when you hear it, the dull slam of a car door. Then boots. Heavy and familiar on the pavement outside. You don’t rush to greet him. You don’t cry. You don’t even blink.
You stay in the kitchen, elbow-deep in last night’s dishes because sleep doesn’t visit your side of the bed anymore.
And why would it? That bed hasn’t felt like home since he left it.
You hear the lock click. Then the door creaks open.
Then—silence.
You don’t turn around.
“This how you greet me now?” His voice cuts through the quiet.
You don’t answer.
“Seriously?” he says, sharper. “I come back from hell, and I get a cold shoulder?”
That makes you laugh but it’s hollow. Bitter. You set a dish down with too much force. “Hell? You think you’re the only one who’s been through it?”
Simon stiffens in the doorway.
You turn, eyes sharp. “You left, Simon. You vanished. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead.”
“I couldn’t tell you—”
“Don’t give me that shit,” you cut him off. “You didn’t even try. You let some random operator be the one to break the news. You didn’t have the balls to tell your own wife that you were leaving.”
He steps forward, jaw tight. “You think it was easy for me? You think I wanted to go?”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“I was protecting you—”
“Don’t.” You hold up a hand, shaking your head. “Don’t feed me that line. You didn’t protect me. You abandoned me.”
Silence floods the room again, thick and bitter.
He exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Why not?”
You look away, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because talking leads to arguing. Arguing leads to nowhere. And I’m just… I’m tired, Simon. I’m so tired.”
He watches you quietly. “Okay. Let’s go to sleep then.”
You let out a soft scoff. “Not like that you aren’t.”
He frowns. “Like what?”
You look at him for the first time in full really look. His face is tired. Eyes dull. Shoulders weighed down like he’s carrying something he can’t put down. But it’s not enough. Not after everything.
“Like a soldier.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another.
Something in his expression falters.
“I want to sleep with my husband,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Not some stranger in a uniform. Not someone who shuts me out, who leaves without a word, who walks back in like I should be grateful.”
The pain is all over your face in the tight press of your lips, the furrow in your brow, the shine in your eyes you refuse to let fall.
“Is that too much to ask?”
You don’t wait for an answer. You turn your back and walk toward the bedroom, the weight of your words dragging behind you like chains.
Simon stays in the kitchen, frozen. Still in his boots. Still not the man you married.
And the silence swallows him whole.
dividers by @thecutestgrotto | i wrote this while listening to Not You Too by Drake at 4 am !! o(≧∇≦o)