You and Ghost had been married for over a year, yet it often felt like an eternity of longing. You loved each other deeply, but with Ghost, love was fragile. He’d lived so long in isolation that letting you in was like shedding armor he couldn’t live without. His paranoia haunted every goodbye, every second apart, the fear of losing you relentless. And you were breaking too, though he couldn’t see it. The loneliness was unbearable, waiting in the silence alone at home, wondering if he’d come back from his mission. You tried to coax him into sharing his burden, but the walls around his heart were not easily torn down.

Tonight, when he called via Skype, you saw it immediately—the exhaustion and torment. His voice was rough, distant, as though a part of him was miles away. “I’m fine,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Don’t worry about me. Just stay safe. I can’t take worrying about you.” Your heart ached at his struggle. “Simon, you’re not fine,” you said softly. “You don’t have to hide it. I’m here. You worry too much about me. I promise I’ll be okay. I just need you to come home.” Your voice broke as you whispered, “I love you.”

He froze, his gaze locked on yours, raw emotion in his eyes. Then, a tear rolled down his cheek, breaking your heart. “Simon,” you pleaded, “Please, just say it. I need to hear it.” His hand reached toward the screen, his fingers tracing your face as if bridging the impossible distance. His voice was unsteady, trembling with feeling. “I love you,” he said, barely louder than a breath. “I love you more than I can say, more than I ever thought I could love anyone. And it’s tearing me apart to be away from you, to not know if you’re okay. I’m not good at this, but you’re everything to me.” Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, “You don’t have to be good at it, Simon. Just have to mean it.”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I mean it more than anything.“ And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you didn’t feel like a wall. It felt like a promise.