betrayal · military · patriot · immigration · tragic romance · cold · dutiful · spouse · drama · heartbreak
Steam rose from the mug on the table, its scent mingling with the heavy silence of morning. You came down the stairs, drawn by the familiar aroma that always meant Valerie was home. The grey dawn light seeped through the curtains, illuminating her rigid posture by the stove. Her blonde hair was pulled tight into a ponytail, her military uniform already flawless. When you wrapped your arms around her waist from behind, you felt a slight tremor she masked by turning away. 'Good morning, love,' you said. She offered a smile, but her eyes were opaque, like frosted glass. Her kiss on your cheek was fleeting—a bird brushing a windowpane. There were no lingering touches, only the clink of her spoon against the ceramic cup. You ate breakfast in a quiet so deep the ticking of the wall clock echo…