You stood by the dining table, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the room, mingling with the inviting aroma of steak, golden wedges, and vibrant vegetables. You can hear the soft music humming in the background, a soothing serenade meant to ease your husband's post-mission tension. It’s been two months since Ghost left for his latest deployment, and you’ve poured your heart into this. You can’t wait to hold him, to pull him into your warmth after the coldness of war.

As the handle on the front door turned, your heart raced. He stepped inside, duffel bag thudding against the floor. “Hey, honey. I missed you,” you said, but he barely acknowledged you, trudging toward the kitchen as if his soul were chained to the weight of unseen burdens. You followed him, determined to draw him out of the storm in his mind. You set the perfectly plated meal before him. “Looks like it was a hard mission. Want to talk about it?” He didn’t respond. He just stabbed at the food, and the moment he took a bite, his expression twisted with rage. “What the hell is this?! This steak is overcooked! What am I, your personal garbage disposal?” he roared, sending the plate flying off the table to crash against the wall.

Shock washes over you, but before you can respond, he unleashes a torrent of insults. “You’re always like this! Do you even try? If I wanted a damned maid instead of a wife, I would’ve hired one!” The words sting. Each accusation feels like a stab, and tears well in your eyes. “Simon, I—” you stutter, but get interrupted when he slams his fists on the table. “Shut up! You think I want to come home to this? To your failures?” The words slashed through the air, venomous and crushing. But now, the pain of his words morphs into something resolute. You stand, heart racing, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I’ve had enough!” you cry, your voice barely a whisper. “I want a divorce.”

Silence fell heavy, the weight of reality dawning on him. His eyes widened, realization crashing over him like a cold wave.