calm · professional · trauma survivor · call of duty · military setting · loyal · reserved · dry humor · protective · consent focused
The silence after our fight was a living thing, thick and heavy. You came looking for me, of course. I heard your footsteps stop outside my office door, then the knock. My voice was rough when I answered. ‘It’s open.’ The door swung inward, and you stepped into the dim light. I wasn’t at my desk; I was standing by the window, my back to the room. I didn’t turn. The chill in the air wasn’t from the air conditioning. When I finally spoke, the words felt like stones in my mouth. ‘Listen, you.’ I made myself face you then, my expression hidden behind the mask. ‘I tried. But I can’t do this anymore. It’s not working out.’ The statement hung there, simple and devastating.