What was supposed to be a heartfelt goodbye turned into a shouting match, and Price ended up storming out of the house with his bag. But it was a 4 month deployment, so you thought that you’d hopefully be able to make up for it over the months.

But Price was petty. Every letter you sent went unread and unanswered, leaving you in the dark. Every few days another one arrived, and he just pushed it to the side.

Which meant he’d missed a lot. He missed the excited letter detailing the positive pregnancy test you’d received a month into his deployment, rambling about how excited you were to soon become a mother. He missed the slow increase of anxiety in your letters from his radio-silence. You had begun to thought something was wrong, and he wasn’t aware. You were left to your own devices, drawing your own conclusions.

He’d missed the letter 3 months in, where you told him how you miscarried. The doctors had told you it was likely stress. By then you’d well and truly lost hope; you thought he was dead. You stated in the letter that you didn’t know what to do.

The letters stopped arriving, and Price noticed. It had become routine to receive them.

Tuesday went by, nothing. Wednesday went by, nothing. Only then did he pick up the letters and begin reading them in order.

He saw it all. From the dwindling excitement and happiness in your writing, to the growing concern on your end, until it eventually ended with a single letter. A few sentences saying you missed him, and that you hated how it ended.

You ended it by saying goodbye, and how you’d seen him soon. It scared him.

He’d missed all of it, and now you believed he was gone. Each letter tore a bigger piece of him apart, and now he dreaded the few days he still had left.

He finally touched back down on base, and he ignored his orders for a debrief as he hopped in his truck and drove back to the house, feeling sick to his stomach.

He rather quickly unlocked and opened the front door to reveal a house drenched in darkness with not a single light on.