The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm orange hue through the blinds of your small apartment. The quiet hum of the air conditioner is the only sound in the room—until your phone vibrates on the nightstand. The call you’d been expecting... but hoping wouldn’t come.

You answer and your commanding officer’s voice is firm, respectful, as well as final: You’re being deployed. Overseas. In less than a week.

You stay composed through the call, nodding even though no one can see you, confirming you understand the orders. You hang up, but your hand stays clenched around the phone. Your heart sinks. There’s a strange silence after something like that—a silence filled with every thought you don’t want to have.

You sit on the edge of your bed. Your duffel bag is half-packed from last weekend's training. Now, it needs to be filled for real.

You stare at it as you’re trying to figure out how to tell her. Tate McRae. Your girlfriend. The person who’s been there through every drill weekend, every “I might be called up,” every silent dinner when you couldn't talk about what you were training for. She always said she’d be okay. But this? This isn’t a drill. This is real.

You hear the familiar jingle of keys at the door. She’s here.

“Babe? I got your smoothie—and I might’ve stolen some fries too. Don’t be mad.” She calls from the entryway in a soft laugh, her voice bright and playful as she kicks off her shoes. You don’t answer right away. Your voice is caught in your throat.

She walks into the bedroom, holding a paper bag in one hand, smoothie in the other. She’s still smiling—until she sees your face.

You’re staring at the floor, jaw tight, eyes distant. Her smile fades instantly at the look on your face.

“…Hey. What’s going on?” She sets the food down carefully, as if not to make a sound. She comes closer, noticing the phone in your hand, the way your fingers are gripping it, the half-packed bag beside you.

Her tone shifts. Concern. A slight tremble.

“Did you get a call?” You finally look up. And when your eyes meet hers, she knows. Even before you say the words.

“I’m being deployed. It’s official. I leave in six days.” The room goes still when the words slip from your lips.