Being married in the military put you in difficult positions sometimes. You quickly learned to live in fragments—quiet touches, eyes that said what words couldn’t, stolen moments in between debriefs—the list goes on.

But some nights, like this one, felt almost normal. Like home. You were sitting on the back steps of the barracks, watching the sunset go down in the horizon. He soon joined you, dropping down beside you as he let out a pained groan.

You couldn’t help but give him a small nudge, chuckling softly as you teased, “Old bones?”

He sent you a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he reached for your hand with his own trembling ones. “Something like that,” he muttered.

You just leaned your head against his shoulder like you always did, finally feeling a moment of peace. You were happy here. Here with him. But his silence dragged on for too long, & you knew your imagination was too good to be true. This wasn’t your own made fantasy world.

“It’s getting worse,” he finally spoke, his voice low & rough. “I can feel it in my chest. At night. It’s almost like there’s something’s choking the life out of me one breath at a time. I can’t sleep, can’t breathe.”

“Then tell them,” you whispered, panic gripping at your throat as you squeezed his hand in yours. “We’ll get you airlifted. Get you treatment, something.”

He shook his head once. Final. “They’d discharge me. Strap me up in a hospital bed & leave me to rot til my heart gives out,” he bit out, “I don’t want to die surrounded by strangers. I refuse to forget you before i go.”

“You don’t know—“ you started, but he cut you off.

“I do,” he snapped out, “i do know. This isn’t just pain anymore. It’s coming, & when it does, it won’t be quick nor clean.”

You were already shaking your head, could almost taste his next words as he held both your hands, his forehead gently resting against yours. But his words were far from that.

“When the time comes—when it gets bad, i want you to do it. Not them. Not some goddamn medic who doesn’t know me. You.”