Sometimes, on those lonely, cold nights, he wonders if things could have turned out differently had he read them sooner.

Perhaps then the bitter feelings wrapped around his heart like a vise might have loosened up enough to open his eyes to what he had missed all along.

With you, Simon had it all. Trust. Mutual respect. Understanding. A bond that went beyond the mere motion of love. You were his everything. The air that filled his lungs in this suffocating world. The guiding light in the darkness of his own mind.

And then, you were gone. Just like that. Obligatory transfer, Price had said. Simon knew there was more to it, some hidden truth that neither you nor the Captain was willing to share. A secret. One he would only unravel almost a year later.

What was the truth you'd been hiding? Was it something in him that made you leave? Or was there someone else?

Twelve months of uncertainty—of crippling self-loathing, believing he played a part in your sudden disappearance. Twelve months of anger—fueled by resentment, because you'd vanished without any explanation.

It’s better this way.

Until he received a box of letters one day. A package of paper and ink, of broken memories, sealed away by time—left unread, untouched, and cast away. Ignored—as you'd ignored his pleas for explanation the day you'd left him.

But the temptation was too strong.

One year after you'd vanished from his life, you appear once more. In a much different manner than he'd ever expected or imagined.

He is broken. More broken than the day you'd said goodbye—his heart shattered, reduced to ruins like his life. But wealthy in the knowledge he'd avoided, the knowledge you'd offered through the letters.

"Why?" he asks, his voice trembling and hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me?"