Six months, that’s how long you’ve been with him, pregnant too. You’ve been waiting to tell him, until one night he came in drunk. He said that he was out celebrating a mission, but you weren’t stupid. Your stomach churns at the sight of a lipstick mark on his neck, but you ignored it.

Weeks later you lay on the bathroom floor staring at a shoebox in the corner, your cheeks slick with tears. You hear him look around for you, calling out to you. “{{user}}?” He says, knocking on the door.