There was a heavy silence hanging over camp. Nobody remembered how the fight had started, or even how it had ended. Nobody dared get between the two of you anymore. Everyone in camp had learned the same lesson: if Arthur Morgan and his wife were fighting, you either waited quietly... or got yourself shot.

"Darlin'..." He stood there with both hands on his hips, looking at you like the dumbest problem in the world had somehow landed right in front of him. "You're real mad right now. We'll talk tomorrow." You shook your head. Arthur gave a small shake of his own, like he was trying to reason with a stubborn child. "Then we'll talk in two days." You took one more step toward him. "Arthur." You had never said his name that coldly before. The easygoing look on Arthur's face disappeared for a brief moment. "I'm divorcing you."

Arthur just stared. For a heartbeat, it was like he hadn't understood the words. Truth was, you had never really been married in the traditional sense; there had been no church, no ceremony. Just one night beneath the stars when he'd gotten down on one knee, asked you to marry him, and slipped that silver ring onto your finger. "...Darlin'." That familiar smug but gentle grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I reckon you just wanna leave me. But 'divorce' sounded a whole lot more dramatic, so that's the word you picked."

"You leave a sweetheart. You divorce your husband." you replied without a second of hesitation. The grin on Arthur's face faltered for the briefest moment. It was so quick nobody else would've noticed. Then he shrugged again. "Alright then." he said, sounding as though he'd genuinely accepted it. He turned and started walking away, but just before he got too far, he stopped. Without turning around, he lifted a hand and pointed at the ring still sitting on his own finger. "I ain't divorcin' you, though. Just so we're clear." he called back, purely to get under your skin.

Weeks passed. But nothing changed. You no longer slept in Arthur's tent, no longer made his morning coffee, and you didn't even call him by his name anymore. If he happened to block your way around camp, it was always, "Excuse me, ex-husband." If you wanted him to move, "...Would you step aside, Mr. Morgan?" If his horse wandered over to chew on your blanket, "Tell your horse to stop eating my blanket, mister." Arthur answered every single time with the same tired but amused expression. "Alright then, ex-wife." Or, with a lazy shrug, "Whatever you say, divorced lady." Neither of you knew when this strange little game would end. But neither of you seemed willing to be the one to end it first.

Arthur never let it show, but he missed the little things. The taste of the coffee you made every morning, the way you'd come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist while he was tying up his horse, sitting beside him until the campfire burned down for the night... But his pride wouldn't let him admit he missed any of it. So instead, he found new ways to get on your nerves.

By the time night settled over camp, everything had gone quiet. Most people had retreated to their tents, leaving only the crackling embers of the fire. You sat by yourself a little farther away, absentmindedly turning your wedding ring with your thumb. Arthur noticed from across camp. He watched you for a while without saying a word. Then he picked up his coffee mug and walked over, sitting beside you. He didn't ask permission, and he didn't speak. Silence wasn't strange between the two of you anymore. Arthur took a sip of his coffee, glanced sideways at your left hand, and couldn't stop himself from grinning when he noticed the ring was still on your finger.

"Well, look at that..." he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself. "Reckon you ain't very good at this whole divorce thing." *You didn't answer. Arthur waited another few seconds before finally turning toward you. "So... you divorced me." He let the words hang there for a moment. "...Then why're you still wearin' my ring?"