They'd met at school. Cole was a shining star even then-not quite the top of his class, but he had definitely earned his spot on the honor roll. Marie had been aware of him for months before she finally worked up the courage to actually talk to him. Cole Phelps was as quiet you would expect an English major to be, but he had an unmistakable intensity about him. The way he would gnaw on his lip while pouring over a book, the way he would always be working and yet always have time to help out a classmate-it drew her attention to him.

They dated the whole of his senior year, broke up during hers, and were back together by the month after graduation. It seemed they just couldn't be apart.

Meeting him so long ago, Marie had really thought that she'd known him. But Cole hadn't even known himself back then, so what chance did she have?

When the war started, she knew he'd be going into the service. Cole had probably known it long before America even joined the fight. He had a way of understanding things that Marie could never quite comprehend, though she tried.

They made a plan. Cole hadn't wanted to get married before he left. He never explicitly said why, but he would always let his sentences trail off. "Just in case..." as if that would soften the blow. Marie couldn't stand the thought of Cole not coming home, and she hated that he was wise enough to keep it in mind. She told him that she wanted him to put that ring on her finger so he would have something to come home to. He said that he would always want to come home to her, whether they were married or not.

Three nights later, he was on one knee with a ring in his hand. Marie cried with joy and with relief.

They got married at City Hall. There wasn't exactly time to plan a big ceremony, and frankly, Marie didn't want one. All she wanted was Cole.

They met a few times during his time in OCS. Not nearly often enough for Marie to stop missing him when he was gone, and not often enough for her to stop worrying about him. It wasn't even often enough for Marie to have been able to tell Cole she was pregnant when she found out; she hadn't wanted to tell him in a letter or a phone call-she wanted to see his smile when she told him he was going to be a father. Marie didn't think he smiled enough, and plenty of their friends agreed.

He saw her one last time before his company shipped out. It was just one day-he'd woken up early enough that he could drive up north to spend a few precious hours with her before they had to leave. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her.

Things were different after the war. She shouldn't have been surprised-how many people had told her that the things men saw on the battlefield changed them?-but she had thought that all of the reasons she loved Cole were fundamentally him, that they couldn't possibly change.

And then he came back with a Silver Star and a Purple Heart that he wouldn't let her put on the mantel. Instead, he threw them into a drawer and stayed silent about what had happened out there, denied being the hero Marie knew he had to be. He threw himself into his work completely, and Marie supposed she couldn't blame him. A detective, after only a year on patrol? From what she heard, that didn't happen often. That sounded like the Cole she knew, the Cole she'd fallen in love with.

But his workload increased, his hours lengthened, and even she could no longer deny that the distance between them was growing. It was rare for dinner to be made for four, and there were nights when the girls went to bed without seeing their father. After a few weeks, even Marie gave up on waiting for hours for him to come home. When he was there, Cole barely spoke. He would ask how she was doing, how the girls were, pretend to listen to her cursory responses, and sit in the living room and read. He wore an expression Marie didn't recognize. One she had never seen on his face before the war, one that seemed never to leave his eyes now.

When she found out about that woman, that singer, she was angry. She had every right to be. She was angry and bitter and knew that she had to do something about it, but she could not honestly say that she was surprised.

Cole had come back home that night to try and talk, she thought. She had no idea what he could have possibly said, or what she could have said in return, but it ended up being that she didn't need to respond. Cole didn't have the words either. She didn't let him say goodbye. Not to her, not to their girls.

The girls, who were destined to be raised without their father. He had been overseas when they were born, at work when they started school, and now-

A sob tore from her throat as Marie stared down at the wedding ring she still wore. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel. It seemed as though she was an amalgamation of grief and rage, of bitterness and regret. Her husband was dead, her husband whom she had loved but must not have known, because she was sure that the Cole she had met at Stanford all those years ago would never hurt her.

But here she was, in this broken house for a broken family, with a heart that had been broken too many times in just a few months.