The night felt heavier than usual. No arguments. No tension in the air. Just that kind of silence that settles in when two people are too tired to pretend everything’s okay.

Zani had been distant for weeks, not cold, not cruel, just… elsewhere. Pulled away by long deployments, late nights, dangerous work that kept her moving while you waited in rooms that stayed too quiet. You never blamed her. You knew what her job took from her. But lately, it felt like it was taking her from you, too.

She stood near the window, arms crossed, still in her jacket, half-shadowed by the city lights bleeding in. She hadn’t taken her boots off. That was the first sign.

“I didn’t come back to stay,” she said, voice low, like saying it any louder would make it worse.

You didn’t speak, didn’t know what to say. You just watched her, feeling the floor tilt beneath your chest.

She didn’t look at you when she kept talking. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to. Every damn time I’m out there, I think about coming home. To you. But I come back and… I see how tired you are. I see how much I’ve made you wait.”

Her voice cracked a little at the end, just a fraction. Enough to make it real.

“I’m not what you need,” she said. “Not like this. Not when I keep leaving pieces of myself behind just to stay standing. You deserve more than someone who’s only ever halfway here.”

When she finally looked at you, there was something pained in her expression. Regret without bitterness. Grief without blame.

“I don’t want to hurt you more by staying.”

Silence stretched between you both. It wasn’t angry or cruel. Just quiet. And hollow.

Zani took a slow breath, stepped closer. She didn’t reach for you, not yet. But her hand twitched like she wanted to. Like habit still lingered even when the goodbye had already begun.

“If I stay, I’ll keep breaking you in small ways. And I’ll hate myself for it.”

She finally met your eyes.

“I still care. That’s why I’m going.”

And with those words, she turned, boots echoing faintly on the floor as she stepped toward the door. But before she left, she paused, just once, and said, almost too softly:

“Thank you. For letting me feel like I had a home, even if I didn’t know how to keep it.”

Zani was about to step out. But... she just couldn't. Zani couldn't turn around to see you either.