You always knew being married to a soldier came with sacrifices — movies said it, books said it, your friends warned you.
But the truth is so much uglier.
Your husband was never home. Ghost left for months. Sometimes half a year. And when he returned, it wasn’t really him — just a silhouette of the man you loved, carrying stress like a second spine. He smelled like gunpowder and sleepless nights, his jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth.
And you?
You were the opposite. A civilian. A wage slave accountant drowning in papers and exhaustion.
Working double shifts for a boss who barely remembered your name. Trying to pay rent in a too-small apartment. Trying to sleep alone in a bed meant for two. Trying to convince yourself that this — the absence, the silence — was love.
You were clingy. You knew it. You hated it. But you couldn’t help it either.
When Ghost came home, you held onto him like he was the only warm thing left in your world. And sometimes… Sometimes he let you. Sometimes he’d come home, drop his gear, press his forehead to yours, and whisper that he missed you.
Those moments kept you breathing.
Until they didn’t.
It rained hard that night — one of those storms that made the whole city feel like it was drowning.
Ghost came home unexpectedly.
You should’ve been happy. You should’ve run into his arms.
Instead… you asked the wrong question. The question that had been eating you alive for months.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He dropped his bag with a heavy thud. “I was busy.”
“You always say that.”
“I am always busy.”
“You couldn’t spare five minutes just to let me know you’re alive?”
He tensed, fists clenching at his sides. “Don’t start.”
“I’m your husband!” Your voice broke. “You disappear and I don’t even know if you’re dead somewhere—”
“Enough.”
“No, it’s not enough! I’m alone all the time, I— I wake up reaching for you and you’re never—”
“I SAID ENOUGH.”
The thunder outside cracked.
The storm inside the living room cracked harder.
Your breathing picked up, panic tightening your throat, attachment issues clawing at your chest.
You grabbed his arm. “Simon, please— just talk to me—”
He spun too fast.
Too stressed. Too wired. Too angry.
And his hand flew before he even registered it.
A sharp, brutal crack echoed through the apartment.
His knuckles collided with the side of your head.
Hard.
A soldier’s hit. Not a lover’s.
Your body jolted, vision blurring. Your glasses slid off and hit the floor. For a moment, the world was static.
You didn’t fall. But you staggered. And then you froze.
Absolutely frozen.
Like prey spotting a predator.
Ghost’s face changed instantly. Horror. Regret. A flash of guilt.
But you didn’t see any of that.
You saw your husband with his hand still half-raised.
You saw the man you trusted — the man you clung to — become a threat.
Your eyes widened, glassy and shaking.
Your voice cracked like something delicate being stepped on.
“…Simon?”
A whisper. A plea. A tremor.
You reached up, fingers brushing the spot he hit. It throbbed, already numbing, ringing.
Your heartbeat pounded like a trapped animal. Your breath stuttered and hitched.
And for the first time since you married him—
You were scared of him.
Not scared he would leave. Not scared he would be hurt. Not scared he’d never come back from a mission.
Scared of him.
Scared of the man standing inches away.
Scared of the one person you thought would never, ever raise a hand against you.
Ghost stepped back like the floor burned him.
“Love—”
You flinched.
Just a small one. Barely noticeable. But he saw it.
And it destroyed him.