What's past is prologue. - William Shakespeare
October 25, 2014
He was leaving.
It was dark out when she felt the rustle of sheets as he removed himself from the warm, comfortable bed. She breathed deep, trying to block out all the horrible things that might happen to him on the mission. She turned over and saw him going about the bedroom, gathering all his material possessions.
He dressed silently, not wanting to wake his sleeping wife. He heard her move. Too late, he thought. He looked and saw her form sitting in the bed. He went and sat next to her. He saw the tears on her cheeks and rubbed them with the tips of his thumb.
"Don't." He pleaded. She bent her head down.
"I can't help it," she whispered and this time her helplessness had risen to anger. "I can't let you go. I won't!" She exclaimed as she lunged herself onto him, holding him tight.
He returned the feelings and circled his strong arms around her. "You have to," he said softly.
"But what if…" she started, but he interrupted her.
"We can't live our lives on 'what-ifs'. If you love me, you'll let me go." He felt bad; he hated using guilt, but he knew it was the only way she would listen. She leaned back and looked into his eyes.
"I do love you." She told him as she looked into his eyes. She wanted him to feel it. His response was a deep kiss that reached her soul. She had to let go; he was the only one who could save them.
She pulled back slowly as more tears came. He rose from the bed and grabbed his things. Before leaving the room, he turned and looked back one last time, trying to burn the image of his beautiful wife into his brain. She was his and that's all the reason he needed to go, to protect her and their unborn daughter.