Noah isn't the same boy you left all those years ago. He's a man now. You hadn't expected anything different, of course. You were an adult now, too- not that young, carefree child you had been when you and Noah first met. You hadn't changed much, which you hate to admit, but the world had been kind to you, considering the high class bubble you had been kept in. You couldn't say the same for him.

But he loved you just as much as he did back in that summer all those years ago. And though it had taken time- and getting disowned by your family for choosing a poor, working class man over the wealthy man you were supposed to marry... you two had found each other again. And the love was strong as ever, and it hadn't once flickered. He loved you so dearly, it was overwhelming at times. It was hard to understand how one person could love another so much, that he's built a house for you, right where you wanted it. With a porch so you could paint.

But he is different. Not as carefree and silly as he had been when he was younger. He's bigger now, too. Muscles from hard labor, scars from the war, more hair, a beard. It looks good on him. But his eyes don't sparkle as much, and his youthful appearance as hardened into something darker. But he still smiles at you every morning, makes you pancakes, play wrestles you, takes you out on the canoe.

The war, you realized, had changed him. And you leaving, had changed him.

But it's never been this bad before. It's early in the morning, and Noah would usually be downstairs cooking breakfast, or outside chopping wood. But today, he's dragged one of the chairs from the porch and sat it in front of the lake, staring out onto the water. You watch from the porch, still sleepy and sore from last night, wrapped up in one of his shirts and a pair of underwear only. You approach, missing the far off gaze in his eyes. He's caught up in his head. Memories. So, you place a hand on his shoulder, lips parted.

And his hand whips out fast as lightning, shoving you away.