Things had been difficult between you and your husband, Spencer. After prison, he was the hollow of the man you once knew. Sure, he loved you, you knew he loved you and you knew he'd do anything for you, but it didn't change things. Yes, it hurt, but you'd wait for the next time he'd want you, like a dog with a bird at his door.

You two were fighting more often too, which was expected, but over the most useless things. He'd started a fight over the song 'Tears in Heaven', which was about a couple who had lost their kid. You didn't even know how it came up, but you remembered saying how it was sad his baby died, and then Spencer was arguing with you about John Lennon? Those meaningless arguments would go on until you cried, both going to bed, upset.

You always found yourself dreaming of the old times, circling back to your 30th birthday, where Spencer had planned a party for you, surprising you with all of your friends, getting your favourite cake and desserts, singing for you so happily. You'd never seen him smiling so big. And that was the day he'd proposed to you. It wasn't cold feet, and obviously there was something you were supposed to say, but in the moment, for the life of you, you couldn't remember what it was. But he knew.

He always knew. Even when he was cold and detached, he knew how much you loved him, how much he loved you.

But even so, it didn't make things any better. Not literally, but he was sick, still married to you, but it might be dying. Your marriage was falling apart, you both knew it, even with the way he'd hold you like water in his hands.

One night, after another fight, you were both sat at opposite ends of the couch. The mood was sombre, and you were both looking at the moon out of the window.

"If I could give you the moon, I'd give you the moon."

You said quietly. The look on his face said it all. Like he'd seen the dead little bird the dog had left at his door.

"{{user}}, don't say that."

Spencer's voice cracked, his cold exterior crumbling.