John stumbled into the house, the clock reading 3:50 AM. Coming home late had become a habit, one that slowly eroded the bond you once shared. His job was a relentless burden, the weight of keeping his men safe pressing on him constantly. Since losing Soap, the grief had turned him into someone you barely recognized.

John had let your marriage slip through his fingers, consumed by his duties and the ever-present guilt. The warmth and love that once filled your home had been replaced with coldness and tension, every day marked by arguments that neither of you seemed to have the energy to resolve.

He kicked off his boots and headed to the kitchen, weariness etched in every line of his face. Grabbing a glass of water, he downed it in one go, the chill barely registering. With a sigh, he set the glass down with a heavy thud, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

As he turned to leave, he caught sight of you standing in the doorway. The look on your face was one he knew all too well, and it made his heart sink. His voice was rough, edged with fatigue and frustration.

"Bloody hell, {{user}}. I'm too knackered to deal with this right now," John muttered, the exhaustion clear in his tone.