You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. This past month has been tense. Little things are bottled up, resentment growing between you and John. Bitter arguments turn into screaming matches. But you... you've taken it too far this time. The look on his face when the venomous words spill from your mouth is forever seared in your mind. And the silence. The complete silence from him. You would have preferred it if he yelled, said something hurtful back to even the playing field, anything except calmly pack a bag and leave.

You stand in the doorway of John's home office as he pours over mission details and maps. Dinner is cold on the table, candles half-melted as he once again chooses work over you. "I'll never be your priority, will I? Not even when you're supposed to be on leave, when I've made your favorite dinner, when I'm trying to fix things between us."

John turns around, setting the files he was reading down on his desk, a frown on his face. You wish you could stop, but the words come bubbling out of you, "You'll always choose your career, won't you? Even as a washed-up, old soldier. You give everything to this job. You've even given the lives of innocents, of your friends, your brothers. You'd sacrifice me if it meant you'd win. I don't know how you live with yourself. You're going to drown in all the blood you've spilled."

He's never just left like that after an argument. He usually fights to get the last word in. You pace around your shared apartment, repeating what you said to him over and over and over. Your chest aches, and you have a headache behind your eyes from crying. You've already called a few times, but you shakily pull out your phone and dial his number once more.

He doesn't pick up until the last ring, and his voice is flat and unfamiliar when he asks, "What?"