A/N: Okay, so I got a lot of messages asking me to continue with this, so here is my attempt. This was meant to be a one shot, so I really don't know, how this one came out. So remember let me know in your reviews!

The letters went on for a couple of years. Three to be exact. It was 1994. Reba and Brock exchanged letters for three years. Brock told her about what he did in the army, Reba told him about how big the girls were getting. Brock hadn't received any responses to his letters for the past three weeks. He started to get worried until one day he received a letter from Reba.

"Hart! Letter for you." yelled one of his buddies.

"Hey thanks!" he yelled back.

Excitedly and urgently, he ripped through the letter and was shocked at what Reba had written to him. It read:

Dear Brock,

Hey I'm sorry I hadn't responded in a couple of weeks. I don't really know how to tell you this. But I feel as if this relationship isn't going anywhere Brock. I need to know you're here for me and the girls. And I know you are, but you're hundreds of miles away. Our children need a stable father. One who could be here when things get rough. Please don't make this hard on me more than it already is. In this envelop I enclosed divorce papers. Please sign them and send them back as soon as you can. I love you Brock, and I always will.

The girls say hi.

Love,

Reba.

The letter brought tears to his eyes. What did he do? He was losing his wife, and his children. How could she be so selfish? But wait, she wasn't the one being selfish. She accepted his opinion, allowed it to go on. It was he who was being selfish. He left behind a wife and two kids. Reba couldn't handle that on her own. She needed someone to be there for her.

"Hart? Are you crying?" asked Frank.

"Man, I think I just lost my wife."

"Somethin' happened?"

"Yeah, she wants a divorce."

"I'm sorry, I would help you if I could."

A couple of hours passed and Brock just laid in bed unable to go asleep. He re-read the letter over and over again. He looked over to his bag. And gently nudged Frank to get up. "Mom...five more minutes." he grumbled pulling the pillow over his head.

"Get up Frank." said Brock

"Okay Okay I'm up!" he said waking up. "What?"

"You know how you said you would help me if you could?"

"I said that?" asked Frank obviously still drowsy.

"Frank..."

"Yeah I did...where are you gettin' at Brock?"

"I need you to help me go back home."

"Brock...you do know your contract's not up till next year."

"You gotta help me buddy. My marriage is at stake here. I need to see my wife."

"Alright I'll go start the minibus, while you get ready. Hurry up before the General sees us."

Brock had said goodbye to Frank and drove the minibus out the gate without anyone noticing. Seemed like his quick agility paid off these past three years. Anyway he was on the rode, for which seemed days only in reality to be a couple of hours. He arrived in Houston, Texas noon the next day. "Home Sweet Home." he recited to himself. He arrived at the house minutes later, got out of the car and fixed his appearance. Then he knocked on the door. A short but cute little girl answered the door.

"Hey honey." said Brock with open arms.

"I'm sorry old man, but my mommy said never to speak to strangers." Cheyenne said as she closed the door.

"Have I really aged that much?" Brock asked himself. He knocked on the door again.

"Do you not take no for an answer?" yelled a short red headed five year old.

"Who is it honey?" said Reba as she walked towards the door. Her mouth dropped at the sight of him.

"Reba." he said.

"Daddy!" said Cheyenne as she ran towards him.

"See I told you!" said Kyra as she ran towards her father.

After they all got reacquainted, the girls went to their friend's house to leave Brock and Reba alone to talk. They just sat quietly on the couch, unsure of how to start the conversation. Both of them sat quietly waiting for one to start off. They never looked each other in the eyes. Brock stared off into the space, as Reba stared down at the floor.

"Your hair got longer." he said trying to start off a conversation with some small talk.

"Brock..."

"Reba, what is this?" he said holding out the divorce papers.

"Oh you received them."

"Yes I received them. You know you'd think that after three weeks of not hearing from my wife, and I finally receive a letter from her; I'd be happy. But in fact happy is the understatement."

"Brock, I don't want us to divorce."

"Then what are these?" he said holding out the papers.

"Do you know how long ago I got those papers? But I decided to send them now because I couldn't go through with it earlier. I don't wanna divorce. But I need to know that you're going to be here for me. Here not over hundreds of miles away."

"Reba, my contract ends in a year. Then we could start all over again. Just like new. Just like it's always been." he explained.

"Brock, I've always been open to your opinions, and suggestions, but not now. I need you now, and if you're not willing to stay then you need to let me go."

"Reba..." he started but stopped only to continue again. "I'll stay."

"What?" asked a shocked Reba.

"I'll quit the army." he stated.

"But I thought that was your calling or destiny in life."

"You and the girls are much more important. If leaving the army is what it takes to be with you, then I will. I need you Reba."

"Brock, I don't want you to quit somethin' that makes you happy." she reasoned.

"Reba, you make me happy. When I left I thought that those letters are what brought us closer. You don't know how much I prayed to come home. But I couldn't just up and leave. But knowing that my marriage with you is at stake, I had to leave. I need to feel you close to me again. I missed you so-" he was stopped by Reba.

"Brock, don't say anything that you might regret."

"Why would I regret anything?" he stopped. "What's going on Reba?" he stopped at looked over to the side table near the couch. "And who's this guy, Reba?"

A/N: I have no clue, what and how you leave the military and if there really is a contract, so please bear with me. lol! Let me know what you think.