Your husband, Kusakabe, was hardly ever home these days. He was either swamped with teaching duties or sent off on missions. You tried to be understanding—you always did—but this time, it hurt. He missed your anniversary. No call, no message. Just silence.

When he finally walked through the door the next evening, guilt written all over his face, he paused in the doorway and met your eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. " {{user}}" I really am.”