Author's Note: I have re-edited and re-written a lot of this one. I feel like I finally found my voice and wanted to re-explore some of this and add in some things before finishing it. So I deleted the original, and give you the first chapter of the re-write :)

2022

She was nervous, she didn't want to go in. Stevie had called 2 weeks ago. Dad was in an accident, he thinks it's 2013. I need you to come, I don't have the answers to his questions. So she came. She put on her Mom hat and her big girl pants, and she got on the plane. Now here she was standing outside her ex-husbands apartment in New York for the first time ever after not really speaking to him since Jason's high school graduation. She stares at the door for several minutes, wondering what's on the other side. Are his framed scripture scrolls on a wall, surrounded by his books? Is his laptop open, bearing his beautiful prose like writings? Does he have coffee ring stains on his desk from a lack of coasters? She misses those things, having them in her space. Having him in her space. She takes a breath, raises her hand, and knocks lightly.

He knew they were divorced. Jason had the unfortunate chore of dispensing that news. He thought he was joking, he knew he had lost his memory at that point. Retrograde amnesia. It's hard to wake up and be told that your kids are grown. He felt like he missed it, even though he was there for every milestone, graduations, and first jobs, and even a wedding. He wanted nothing more than to be able to remember walking Stevie down the aisle. But maybe worse than the lack of memory, was the lack of Elizabeth. God, he missed Elizabeth, his heart literally ached for her. He wished more than anything he could put together the story of why she was gone. What could have possibly went so wrong? He jumped up at the knock on the door. He knew she was coming to see him. Stevie set up the meeting. He straightened his shirt and ran his hand through his hair. Then adjusting his glasses, he opened the door.

When he answered, she was taken aback. Her breath almost left her body when she looked him over. He was hurt, in the accident, that she knew, but seeing the bruises that adorned his face made her ache. He was alone in this city, sure he chose to move here, but it bothered her anyway.

"Hey, babe. It's not as bad as it looks." He greets her, sensing her worry. She flinches in minor heartbreak at the pet name. But she recovers quickly and gives him a small guarded smile.

"Hi." She looks down at the floor, not able to bear looking him in the eye any longer.

He steps aside and gestures for her to come in. He silently leads her to the small kitchen. She lets her eyes wander on the way there. Looking at his apartment. The bookshelves stuffed full and the family photos on the wall. Strategically picked so that none of them happen to include her. She smiles a little, because she did the same thing. It got too hard to look at him, to have pictures around of the time he loved her.

She sits at the small table in the kitchen, while he pours coffee. She watches as he adds the perfect amount of cream and sugar to her cup. Carefully stirring it and setting it in front of her. She mutters her thanks as he sits across from her. She doesn't know where to start, and apparently neither does he, because he's just looking at her. Like she should know what to say, but she doesn't. So she starts on the safest subject.

"Have you been able to talk to all of the kids?" He nods, still not talking, just staring at her. Staring at her the way he used to. Her leg starts to bounce, as butterflies form in her stomach.

"Have they told you what they're all up to? They grew up to be so amazing, and we made them, best thing we'll ever do." She stops, before it turns into a ramble.

He nods, continuing to look at her. She is just as beautiful as she's ever been. Sure marginally older, more life adorns her face. But, her eyes are still so striking. But he notices the pain they hold too. Pain that must be directed at him. Pain he can't place because, he doesn't remember it, not her pain and not his. Though maybe he is living in it now, knowing she's out there, but not here, not with him. When she looks down into her coffee, he asks her about it.

"Are you okay?" She nods and swallows, not ready for the talk, but she can't avoid it forever.

"This is the nicest you've been to me in a long time..." She trails off, but not wanting to place complete blame on him, she goes on.

"I guess it's the nicest I've been to you in long time too..." she wants to be kind to him, the hurt is over, it's been over. She doesn't want to reignite it and let him see the hurt he left her with. She's trying and hoping she was successful at putting the walls up just high enough so that he couldn't see it; but not so high that he would be suspicious of her honesty.

"I'm sorry" he doesn't know why the words come out of his mouth, but they feel rights.

"Don't be, I can't imagine what it would be like in your position. To not remember. And, I can really only provide you with my version of events. I wish I could tell you what you were feeling and thinking, but we quit talking to each other long before you left -"

"I left?" He cuts her off. He doesn't believe her. He would never leave here. He cannot imagine a situation that would make him leave her. She was the best thing in his life. She was his best friend. The two and a half weeks he spent without her, have been the most miserable days of his life.

She hesitated before answering, not wanting to upset him so soon. "...yes."

"I don't understand. I love you. I would never leave you." His desperation for her answer is clearly present in his voice and body language.

"Shit happened." She says with a shrug, it's the best she come up with. "What's the last thing you remember?" She needs a jumping off point.

He looks thoughtful for a moment before answering, "2013? We were leaving Charlottesville to visit my Dad in Pittsburgh. When I woke up I thought we had been in an accident. I was frantically pressing the call button to ask if you and the kids were okay. Next thing I know our little smart-ass 11 year old, was walking into the room a fully grown man."

"Okay... We did not get into an accident. That was actually a pretty good trip... Maureen was actually nice to me." She laughs, and his breath hitches, her laugh is still the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. "Oh and Jason is still a smart-ass. I guess the divorce story really starts when I was appointed Secretary of State."

Yes, he had googled her when he was given his phone. He waited for Jason to leave the room to call his sisters and he couldn't resist. He had to know if she was dead, because if she was alive she would be there, "I saw that on Google. You served from 2014 through the rest of Conrad's presidency?"

"Yeah. It was hardest job I ever had, also maybe the best" she took a long pause. She was uncomfortable and her back stiffened. She didn't know what to say or how to say it. Her hands started to shake and she balled them into fists, pressing her nails into her skin so hard she might make herself bleed. She took a breath her anxiety rising and continued, "Late in 2014 Russia invaded Ukraine. We had an asset imbedded in the Russian Army that was in charge of giving us battle plans, so the Air Force could provide the right air support for Ukrainian troops on the ground. That assets name was Dimitri Petrov. He was a student of yours at the National War College. You were teaching military ethics there and consulting with DIA on the side. You were also his handler. You got very close with him, maybe even saw him like a son. Eventually things came to head between Russia and the US after a few cyber-attacks on both sides. I was scheduled to give a speech to the UN rallying our allies for war and you convinced me not to go. You had a feeling that Russia did not commit the cyber-attack that started the conflict and you were right. I was able to get Ostrova to agree to peace talks and we headed off to Geneva. You tagged along as arm candy in order to pull Petrov out and repatriate him to the US. You were never able to get him out..." it all came tumbling out of her mouth so fast. She's spent many night wide awake analyzing that year of her life. Wishing she could go back and make different choices, wishing she could've saved it. But now she has tell him of the actual catalyst.

"During the negotiation Ostrov wanted us to turn over our spy in exchange for peace... Conrad and I agreed to her terms." She goes silent waiting for the yelling. The yelling that cut her to her core every time. The insults usually followed, normally perfectly curated to break every last piece of her heart.

"Two former spies... gave up an American asset... How could you do that?" He states calmly, his mind clearly working in overdrive, "How could you ever do that? You know what they do to spies in Russia!" He looks at her confused and maybe disgusted and the glue holding her heart together starts to dissolve.

"I do." It's a simple statement. She does know what they do to spies in Russia. She does know how Dimitri died. She knows every last detail of what happened to that kid. Because that's what he was really, a kid. She had forced herself to memorize every last detail of his death report, smuggled out of Russia by one her contacts at the Russian embassy. She has spent countless nights since begging for forgiveness from a God she doesn't truly believe in. After all, what has she done to our sweet children?

"I know that what I did was for the greater good." She says it quickly and quietly, feeling the need to defend herself for actions taken that Henry doesn't even remember.

Henry sits silent, across from her. He's trying to remember, he wants so badly to remember. His body feels hot, and his heart is beating fast, telltale signs of anger and rage. He can't place them, and that makes him more nervous. He feels like he could punch a hole in the wall and he doesn't know why. This a new feeling for him, the rage. And it's terrifying him. He stands suddenly hoping to fill his lungs with air, and she startles.

She is watching him as he starts to pace his kitchen. She thinks he might remember and she braces herself for him to ask her to leave. But he stops and leans over the counter at the sink, heaving for breath.

"I... I... don't... I can't... br-br-breathe"

She's up and out of the chair, and before she knows it she is dragging Henry onto the floor and pushing his head between his knees. She is rubbing his back and telling him that everything is okay. She is trying to remember the last time she was this close to him. That last time she touched him, hugged him, kissed him, and made love to him. And her feelings for him, that she has buried for so long, explode to the surface. Tears start making their way down her face, and she lets out a small cry. Something about that pulls Henry out of his panic, and he's able to draw a full breath.

"Don't cry, I'm okay... I don't know what that was. But I'm okay" He tries to reassure her.

"It was a panic attack. I don't think you've ever had one before..." She stops short of saying she knows what they're like, she's not here to talk about Iran. She doesn't open that box much, not since he's been gone. She's only here to answer his questions and leave. She needs to leave, so she can make her love for him small enough to fit back in the box she put it in. She wants to go back to her seemingly perfect little life, with her little house in Alexandria and her not so little tenured position at George Washington University.

"I'm just so confused…" Henry starts again, "I don't know what happened and I can't put the pieces back together fast enough. I don't know what to do." His voice breaks and he buries his head in his hands.

"You can ask me anything you want to know. I promise I'll be honest with you." She tells him gently, her hand still on his back.

He thinks for a moment. A US asset was given up to the enemy, he was his handler and his teacher. And Elizabeth used the word son, he was close with this kid and he cared for him. He moves his head up to look at her. He catches her eyes with his. She looks remorseful and guilt ridden. And… Oh, God… He's back in a hotel room in Geneva. His own guilt eating him alive, and he takes it out on her. He yells and blames and slams the door. And then, when they're home, they're fighting again, and again, and again, and again. And then he leaves. He leaves her, crying and begging him not to go. He becomes the man he never wanted to be, and he walks away from his wife and out of his marriage.

She sees the realization on his face. She slowly nods and stands. "I'll go" she whispers. Removing herself from the situation before she has to face his rejection again. As she's leaving she starts to think about Stevie's wedding, and how much it had hurt her to watch her ex-husband walk their little girl down the aisle while doing his best to avoid her all day. She guessed he was done being cordial now that all of their babies were grown.

He's watching her leave, frozen. His mind is screaming at him, stop her. You need to stop her. And his body finally communicates with his brain.

"WAIT! Let's talk. Please, let's talk."

She stops in her tracks at the desperation of his voice. They've never talked about it. He didn't want to.

"You want to talk about it? Now? It's been years. It took me so much work to get over you. To get to this place where I'm okay without you." She lets out an involuntary sob, and takes a deep breath. "No, I don't want to talk to you, not anymore."

She turns to leave and he is left there. His heart broken. The way he left her all those years ago.

2014 Henry

We're here again. She's been dragging me here for two months. We sit on this couch and she whines. Whines about the state of our marriage. She doesn't know why I won't talk to her. It doesn't cross her mind, that maybe I'm trying to protect her. Because the way I feel about her right now, the anger I hold, it will hurt her. So, I just need some time. Time to push all of this anger and resentment down. Push it down. But she's crying, and begging me to say something, to say anything.

"I can't do this anymore." It comes so quickly and easily out of my mouth. I hear her gasp, but I can't tell if its true surprise or if she's hurt. We're not connected anymore. I haven't been able to read her in a while. But I turn to her, and see the hurt etched into her face. There was a time when just seeing her face look like that would've broken my heart. But I don't feel anything.

"Elizabeth, I can't do this anymore." I stand, preparing to leave. "I'm sorry, I think we do need to be talking to lawyers." She lets out a sob, it's harsh. Her hands grab her chest and her face twists in even more pain as her body deflates. Once again, I don't feel anything. Why can't I feel anything?

I leave her there in the office, not turning around to her cries asking me to come back. I walk home. One foot in front of the other, the footsteps almost freeing.

I waste no time when I walk in the door. I go straight for my room, grabbing my old military issued duffle. I pack as much of my clothes as I can. And when I'm in the office that I share with her packing up my work, she walks in. She looks devastated. She hasn't bothered to try to clean up the mascara that has run down her face. I should feel something. God, I love this woman, I should feel something.

"Can we talk about it?" She sounds hopeful, like she is trying so hard to believe that this can be fixed. But it can't.

"No, we can't." I break the news as softly as I can. She doesn't look surprised when I say it. She just nods in defeat. I grab my bags and walk out of our house. Out of our marriage. And I feel something. I feel free. It's elating.

2022

Elizabeth sets out to explore Midtown on foot. Her heart as heavy as it was the day he left her. She hasn't been to New York since her days at State. It feels different than it used to. It's his City now, and it feels wrong to be here, to share it with him. Thirty minute of walking aimlessly and she finds herself outside of the UN building. She laughs at the irony and takes a seat at a café across the street from it.

2014 Elizabeth.

I feel pathetic. Sitting in a therapist's office, begging my own husband to talk to me. My best friend. I can't help but to think of the judgements that must be on Dr. Sherman's mind. I spent so much time in here after Iran talking about how fantastic Henry is. Talking about how loved he makes me feel. And now we're here. And I can't even fully comprehend how it happened.

"I can't do this anymore." My breath hitches. I don't dare to move. I feel my heart start to crack. I want to ask what he means. What is it that he can't do anymore? But I freeze, because I'm smart enough to know what happens next, and I don't think my heart can handle it.

"Elizabeth, I can't do this anymore." He stands. I feel as if he is holding my heart in his hands. It's made of glass.

"I'm sorry, I think we do need to be talking to lawyers." He throws my glass heart, and it shatters against the wall. I hear myself cry, though I don't really feel it. My world goes quiet, so quiet. The last time I felt the quietness sink in like this, was the night my parents died. The night I felt so alone. But if it's possible I feel even more alone now.

"Please don't go." I hear myself say the words, but I disassociate from it. Because deep in my heart, I know he isn't turning around. He's leaving. It's been coming, I know that. I wipe my face, trying to gather whatever dignity I have left. I tell Dr. Sherman, that I have to go. And she makes me promise to schedule an appointment.

I don't hide my tears from my detail on the way home. My heart is broken, and in this moment I don't care who knows it. I sit in the car for a few extra minutes once we reach home. My detail protests, but I don't know how I'm supposed to go in there. I don't know how to face this. But I remember that I am strong and that I know how to live with pain.

I watch him gather the items off of his desk for a few moments, and go for one last shot at saving it.

"Can we talk about it?" I ask him.

"No, we can't." his voice is softer than it was in Dr. Sherman's office. Which is nice I think, it's better than him yelling. I swallow my tears, I won't allow him access to my full set of emotions anymore. So, I nod and bow my head. He has won. He walks out of our house, and I feel so empty.