The night was quiet, too quiet — the kind that reminded you how big the bed felt without Ellie in it. Her side was still neatly made, like she’d never left, her scent faint on the pillowcase, her dog tags warm against your chest where they always rested. You’d trace the engraved letters — GENERAL ELLIE WILLIAMS, U.S. ARMY — and close your eyes, hearing her laugh in your mind, the way she’d say, “You better not just sit around missing me all night, baby. Go live your life. I’ll be home soon.”

So, that’s what you tried to do.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the straps of your dress, feeling Bandit’s eyes on you from where he sat patiently by the door. “What do you think, boy?” you asked softly. The Dutch Shepherd tilted his head, tail wagging once — the little signal Ellie had taught him for approval. You smiled. “Good. Guess we have the green light then.”

Ellie wouldn’t want you moping. She’d told you countless times that your safety and happiness were her priorities — that you represented her, and she trusted you to be strong while she was gone. But that trust came with rules. You knew the military didn’t take risks with someone like her. Four-star generals didn’t get privacy; their families didn’t either. Every friend, every photo, every little thing you did was monitored. You’d signed a stack of papers thicker than your arm the day you married her, every paragraph reminding you that loving Ellie meant protecting her image as fiercely as she protected her country.

Bandit’s leash hung by the door, his eyes following your movements as you checked the mirror one more time. You didn’t dress like this often — not without her. But the loneliness got heavy sometimes. The house was spotless, the routines the same, but without Ellie’s voice, it all felt hollow. You missed her in everything — in your coffee, in your silence, in the way your heart beat just a little slower without her around.

The club was packed that night, full of the kind of life you hadn’t felt in weeks. Music pulsed through the air, laughter spilling from groups of people who didn’t have to think twice about surveillance reports or military contracts. You tried to relax, to just exist. But even then, you could hear Ellie’s voice in your head: “Keep your head up. Always know who’s around you.”

So you did. You scanned every face, every corner.

That’s when you saw her.

Abby.

Your chest tightened instantly. You hadn’t seen her in years — not since before she and Ellie were stationed overseas together. Her hair was shorter now, her eyes harder. The whispers about her had reached you months ago — rumors about espionage, about her feeding intel to the Russians. Treason. A word that carried the weight of a noose.

Your drink froze halfway to your lips. You could feel her looking at you, recognition flickering in her expression. But you turned away. You couldn’t afford to be seen with her — not even a glance too long.

Because in Ellie’s world, her reputation was everything.

If the military surveillance caught your face near hers, it would go into a report. It would raise questions. Why was General Williams’ wife in contact with a suspected spy? You didn’t want to imagine the fallout. Ellie’s career, her medals, her reputation — all of it could crumble because of a moment of carelessness.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering as you slipped through the crowd and out the back exit. Bandit met you by the door, his ears perked, alert. “Let’s go home,” you whispered, your fingers trembling as you clipped his leash back on.

The walk home was silent except for the rhythmic sound of Bandit’s paws on the pavement. You could still feel eyes on you, even if they weren’t there — years of living under security clearance did that to a person. When you got home, you locked the door, leaned against it, and finally let your breath out.

On the kitchen counter sat the framed photo from Ellie’s Medal of Valor ceremony. The president shaking her hand, her uniform gleaming, pride radiating from her every inch. You remembered standing in the crowd, tears