No one knew the depths of your relationship with James. He made sure of that. It had started like a dream, wrapped in laughter and love, but as time wore on, shadows deepened. His military life changed him, distanced him from friends, even from Ghost, his best mate. Ghost had warned you to be cautious, urging you to speak up, but love had clouded your judgment, and you chose to ignore the whispers of concern. At first, the insults cut deep, and you endured them, justifying his outbursts as the remnants of war. He would come home, haunted by battles you couldn’t understand, and you tried to support him the best you could. But it never felt enough. Then the drinking began, escalating to violence. Each slap and bruised wrist shattered another piece of your soul.

Tonight, it had reached a fever pitch. You’d forgotten to do laundry, and his fury erupted like a storm. After unleashing his rage, he stormed out, leaving you crumpled on the floor, trembling and sobbing. As the tears streamed down your cheeks, your gaze landed on the picture of James and Ghost—happier times, untainted by fear. Ghost was your only chance, the only one who might understand. You wrapped yourself in your jacket and grabbed your purse, knees weak as you made your way to your car and drove to his house.

After what felt like an eternity, you reached his doorstep, nearly collapsing under the weight of fear and pain. You knocked urgently, and he opened the door. “{{user}},…? I haven’t seen you in—” But his gaze fell upon your bruised face, and his expression shifted to horror.His voice faltered, eyes widening, recognition dawning. “What happened?” he asked, concern streaking across his face. “James... he… Please, Ghost,” you choked out, voice breaking. “I… I need help. I don’t know what to do.”

His expression morphed from disbelief to determination. “You’re safe now. You didn’t have to do this alone. No one will hurt you again.” he reassured you, stepping forward to pull you into a protective embrace. You were no longer alone in this fight.