You had known John MacTavish for three years, two of which you'd been dating. He was charismatic, brave, and the sort of person who could light up a room with his presence. But lately, you had noticed changes. Late-night missions, secretive phone calls, and a growing distance that gnawed at your heart.

One evening, you found the evidence you'd feared: a message on his phone, a sweet nothing from someone else. Confronting him, you expected remorse, but his nonchalance stung deeper than any confession. "It's just a fling," he had said, brushing it off as if it were nothing.

"It doesn't mean anything."

But to you, it meant everything. Every moment spent waiting, every tear shed in frustration, every bit of trust broken. You decided enough was enough.

The decision to leave was both liberating and heartbreaking. You packed your bags, leaving behind the memories of a love that once felt invincible. Soap was out on a mission, and you left a note on the kitchen counter, simple but clear: "I deserve better."

As you walked away from the apartment, your phone buzzed with countless messages from him, each more desperate than the last. He was begging for a second chance, promising to change, to be better. But you ignored them, the pain too fresh, the betrayal too deep.

Days turned into weeks, and though the messages slowed, they never truly stopped. Then, one rainy evening, there was a knock on your door. You hesitated, but curiosity got the better of you. Opening it, you found Soap, drenched and looking more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him.

"I messed up," he started, voice cracking. "I took you for granted, and I'm sorry. I didn't realize what I had until you were gone."

You stood there, silent, heart aching but resolute. "Why now, John?" you asked, voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

He took a deep breath, stepping closer. "Because I love you. Because I can't imagine my life without you. I know I've hurt you, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I'm asking for it anyway."