Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t fix what’s already breaking. Like puzzle pieces from two different boxes—trying, begging to fit, but never quite clicking.

And the cruelest part? It was always you trying to fit into him.

Too much. Too little. Too loud. Too quiet. Never enough.

Tonight was supposed to be different. Your birthday. One night without arguments. Without tension. Just the two of you, your fiancé and you, celebrating the simplest thing—you. You’d imagined a quiet dinner, maybe a reservation at the restaurant you always loved. Something small, thoughtful.

But he had other plans. A crowded bar on the outskirts of town, not far from the military base. Loud. Cheap. Thoughtless.

And he didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes drifted toward other women—lingering too long, scanning curves that weren’t yours.

Once again, you felt like you weren’t enough. Especially tonight.

It was Friday, and the bar was packed. Familiar faces were scattered throughout the noise, including two you didn’t expect to see—Ghost and Soap sitting in the corner booth, quiet drinks in hand, observing the room from a distance. You weren’t sure if Ghost had noticed you yet, but it didn’t matter. Not with how things were unraveling at your table.

You hadn’t meant to start anything. Just one small comment—a whisper of disappointment. “I guess I thought tonight would feel more special.” You hadn’t even looked at him when you said it.

“Jacob, I didn’t mean it like—” you tried to backtrack, but the damage was done.

“The only reason I tolerated you this long was because I thought you’d at least make a decent wife,” he snapped. His voice was too loud, too sharp, and it sliced through you like a blade. “But I’m sick of your bullshit. I could have anyone else. I’m done pretending you were ever worth the trouble.”

Just like that, something inside you cracked. Not for the first time in this relationship. But before you could speak—before you could react—he was already gone, walking away toward the blonde he’d been eyeing all night.

You watched, frozen, as he leaned into her space. As his hand brushed her arm. As she giggled and blushed like you didn’t exist.

You weren’t even angry. You were hollow. Like someone had flipped a switch inside you and everything went dark.

You stood, trying to leave—to escape the humiliation before it consumed you. But just as your hand brushed the exit, a warm, firm hand landed gently on your shoulder.

You turned. And there he was. Ghost. He had seen everything.

But he didn’t look smug. He didn’t pity you. He looked furious.

His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp and unreadable. But the heat behind them wasn’t directed at you.

“Funny how he walked away like you’re not the most magnetic person in the damn room,” he said, voice low and lined with a sharp edge of irony. “His loss.”

He hesitated, eyes scanning your face with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.

“…But maybe my chance.”