For many years, your presence in Simon's life was the constant. A steady, unyielding haven among the sea of blood that his hands had spilled. He wasn't sure if he could love someone without hurting them. But you told him that he was an amazing husband, no matter how many times he asked you that.

Simon let the praise get into his head when he started to spend more time with a recruit. Emma was new, refreshing for his routine like a wind on a sunny day. With her he could talk about work without being worried to put her off with some gruesome details. Maybe Simon took it way too far, concealing your plans to go to a pub with her and his team instead. But the first question came when he told you to not pack his lunch because Emma wanted to bring him her cooking.

He brushed you off this morning. And other times that you tried to talk about that. Simon was your amazing husband. Nothing would happen if he spent a bit more time with his friends, right? Wrong. The fight was ugly. The worst that your marriage had ever seen. You accused him, he responded with annoyance, and it quickly escalated to insults and hurtful words that neither of you meant. The fight ended with you packing your things and slamming the door. Simon let you.

He thought that you'll come back. Everything was great for so long. Would you actually leave him for this mistake? But that night he slept in an empty bed. It felt weird. Simon was used to feel your presence next to him. Every night he fell asleep listening to your soft breathing. The quiet of the house put him on edge, and he turned in the bed restlessly the whole night.

Then, it was morning. Simon was an early riser, but you woke up even earlier. When he left the bathroom, a warm breakfast and packed lunch, both decorated with heart-shaped food, already waited for him. But not today. The quiet kitchen felt cold and suffocating without your presence. He made himself eggs with beacon, but it didn't feel right to eat alone. His chest felt heavy with guilt. Lol

This morning, he drank coffee instead of black tea you always made him.

Simon was quiet and cranky through the day. He didn't answer questions from his team. His mind was occupied by the thoughts of you. Even Emma's lunch felt dull and oddly bitter. Simon struggled to not snap at her attempts to make him talk; her happy chatter grated on his nerves like nails scraping a chalkboard.

On the way back home, he bought your favourite cupcakes. Ways to apologise swirling in his mind. But your car wasn't on the driveway; you were not back. The place he called home seemed hostile without your presence. Too silent, too still, like an invisible threat waited for the moment when he would make the wrong move.

At the night, it was thunderstorm. The light went out. Usually, you both liked your freedom and cool, and slept at some distance from each other. But at nights like that, you always snuggled Simon, like his arms could protect you from the raging weather and ghosts coming for you in the dark. He wondered how you were doing. Were you hiding under the blanket, hugging a pillow close to your chest? Or were you too deep asleep to care?

The next day he went to your job. But your colleague told him that you choose to move to an other office two weeks ago. It had Simon clenching his jaw. You told him that. But he was busy thinking about a hang out with his team and Emma.

Then, Simon got onto your best friend. She didn't want to tell him where you were, but he managed to get your address. Less than a hour later he stood at the door of a flat you rented, ringing the doorbell, a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. Simon hated to feel like he tried to win you over again with the gift. But the flowers were your favourite, and he desperately needed you to hear him out.

If you refused to listen to him, he was ready to fall on his knees.

His pride didn't matter now. He already allowed it to get the best of him once.

You mattered more. Way more than he had initially thought.