John Price hated waking up.

For three years, every morning had been the same.

He'd wake in the grey light, instinctively reaching across the bed for you, almost expecting to find you there so he could pull you close before another deployment.

Instead, his hand met only cold, empty sheets.

The truth hit him every time: you were gone. The divorce was finalized. He'd chosen the military, the missions, the secrets—and lost the only person he'd ever truly loved. He'd convinced himself you deserved better, but living without you was slowly breaking him.

---

Late that night, the base gym was nearly pitch-black, lit only by a single light above the heavy bags. Rain hammered against the roof as Price vented his frustration into a punching bag, his taped knuckles striking it over and over.

The gym door creaked open.

Your boots squeaked against the wet floor as you stepped inside, soaked from the rain, carrying a clipboard and a medical kit to restock the first-aid station.

The sound of the punching bag drew your attention.

You froze.

Standing beneath the light was John.

Price steadied the bag and turned, expecting a recruit. Instead, his eyes met yours.

He stopped breathing.

Around his neck, resting against his collarbone on a silver chain, hung your old gold wedding ring.

Panic surged through you. You immediately turned for the door, stopping only when his rough voice broke the silence.

You froze, your back to him.

After a long moment, Price walked over, stopping just behind you. Up close, exhaustion and heartbreak were etched into his face.

As you slowly turned to face him, his gaze followed a raindrop slipping from your hair. He swallowed, the wedding ring shifting against his chest.