Written for Mark of the Asphodel as part of the one-word prompt challenge.
His drinking was a habit she'd tried to overlook. No, a hobby. It wasn't like he needed it to live, after all. And besides, he wasn't a violent drunk like most people, he'd never come home in a stupor and beaten her or the children. Surely, his drinking wasn't the "bad" kind, the kind people were disgraced for. He never got drunk when he was with her; at most, tipsy, and he was very affectionate when tipsy.
Most women despaired at having a drunk for a husband, but not her. It was just part of who he was, and she wouldn't change anything about him. Not for all the gold in the world.
It was only when his health began to fail that she realized there was no difference between drinking out of habit and drinking for fun. Liquor was liquor, and it had the same affect on the body. Too much of anything, no matter what, could kill just the same.
It was poison, no matter how you looked at it.
Even her greatly improved healing abilities could barely help him; at most, they eased the discomfort of his stomach pains, but they couldn't stop him coughing up blood every night, nor could they help him gain back the weight he'd lost. Even the strongest healers in the world could not turn back the clock and erase the damage done by years of drinking.
Worst yet was that he didn't even try to deny it, he knew he didn't have much time left with them. The children, old enough to know exactly what was going on, cried for the impending loss of her father, and though Jenny tried to be strong for them, at night she would weep alone, where nobody could see or hear her.
"Don't worry 'bout me," he said, words punctuated by harsh coughs. "Jenny, th' years I spent with ya were the best ones've my life, y'know?"
"Saber..." She rubbed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. He reached up with a bloody hand to stroke her cheek.
"No cryin', now, honey," he said. "Jus' remember me as I was before this, okay?"
"I-I'll try..."
"Can't say I don't deserve it. All that drinkin' was bound t' catch up with me sooner 'r later," he coughed. "But I got no regrets. Not a one."
She smiled a little, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it tightly.
"Neither do I."
He died the next morning, and despite her devastation she was almost relieved. The poison couldn't hurt him any longer, his body free from the unending torment of fading health.
And she would always remember him as he was. Rough, kind, gentle, always looking out for her and the children. The man she fell in love with during the war; she would never forget the smile on his face when he saved her, and when she later saved him from bleeding to death from his wounds.
She would never think about those final weeks of his life, watching the poison destroy him from the inside out. And neither would the children.