Unknown Location, Iraq – July 2004

Elizabeth wants out. She needs to try something. Anything. She feels herself slipping away. She barely knows who she is anymore. Everything here keeps compounding on her. She doesn't remember what it felt like not to be scared. Being scared has become her existence. Being the victim of violence has become her existence. It's time to try something new. Something brave. She's terrified. Maybe it won't work. Maybe they'll kill her. Maybe she's willing to take that risk. She doesn't want to be here anymore. She doesn't want to be touched anymore. She doesn't want to be beaten anymore. She doesn't want to feel anything ever again. She can't remember how it feels not to feel pain. So the next time they open the door. She's going to run. It may be the hardest thing she'll ever do. And she knows she might die doing it. Maybe that's okay with her- being dead. It'd be better than this.

It's fitting that the man would open the door today, not Sayyid. She no longer fears Sayyid. She knows what's going to happen when he's in the room. Just physical beatings, just waterboarding. But not the other stuff. The stuff she can't think about. The stuff she doesn't know how she's going to voice when she gets out of here. The taking of the parts of her she's only ever given Henry. And she wishes that was the worst of it, but it isn't. The worst of it is the emotional torment. The way he dangles her photo of her children in front of her and asks her if they how much of a slut their mother is. It's him laughing at her guarding her wedding band. The way he tells her that Henry would be disgusted with her. She tries not to let it get to her, but it does. The longer she's here, the more of herself she loses. The more she believes him. She needs to get out.

When the man opens the door, Elizabeth sprints. It's only for a moment. She makes it out to the main room of the house. She now knows it's a house. But she doesn't get past Sayyid. He's much faster than he looks. He grabs her before she gets halfway to the door. Her fist futility hit at him. He shoves her. Hard. Her head slams against the wall, and her world goes dark.

…X…X…X…

She walks into the house a little after midnight. The house should be dead to the world, but by the grace of God, Henry is sitting on the counter. He has a bottle of red decanting and two glasses. He's tired. She can tell with his glasses on the edge of his nose and wearing his boxers and t-shirt. But, he waited up for her. He has a plate of hot food ready for her. He has everything ready for her. She drops her things and flings herself at him. His arms go around her. They kiss.

"Hi." He softly whispers against her lips. His arms around her are like her sanctuary. She is so safe here. She pulls back and looks up at him. She feels like crying, but she doesn't want to.

"Hi," She smiles. "I'm home."

"Yes, you are," He smiles. A strange feeling comes over her. There's something about this that's off. Something's wrong. But she can't place what it is. He picks her up and carries her to the bedroom. He lays her down and crawls in beside her. She lays her head on his chest, and he wraps his arms around her.

"You're mine." The voice in her ear isn't Henry's. The arms around her get tighter. Suffocatingly tight. She screams, but the sound doesn't leave her throat. She wants Henry back. Where did he go?

"We belong to one another." He snarls in her ear. He's breathing into her neck. She tries to get away. He's hurting her. She claws at his hands, but he only grips harder.

"Henry! Please help me! Henry-"

…X…X…X…

Elizabeth wakes up in a cold sweat. Her head is throbbing. Henry's name leaves her lips in a breathless whisper. A sob breaks through her body. She covers her face with her hands. She knows she shouldn't cry. But it's impossible to stop the tears from streaming down her face. She had known that just running wasn't a plan. Not a good one anyway. But it was better than just waiting to die.

"That was stupid, sunshine." She hears the man say. She swallows. She doesn't trust her voice to speak. She thinks he's come over to her bed. "Did you think you could just run away?" He laughs. "You're funny." His hand runs down her face, wiping her tears. "You're so cute when you're scared." He whispers. Elizabeth squeezes her eyes closed. She tries to focus on making her tears stop.

"I guess we'll have to go back to school, huh? No food. No water. No bed." Elizabeth opens her eyes. The man is standing over her. His hands are on his belt. She looks up at him, silent, trying to refuse to give him what he wants. Her fear. He doesn't like her stoic silence. He slaps hard. And again. She feels her lip split. But she still doesn't say anything.

"Did you think I would let you run away?" She feels his hand in her hair and knows what's coming next.

…X…X…X…

Her whole body hurts. But she knows it isn't just the pain from the hits he gave her. Every little movement she makes tears through her. She feels like she might throw up. She looks around the room. Her eyes still don't seem to focus on anything. And then she feels his lips gently on her cheek. It causes her to gag. How does something so gentle follow something so violent? She sees him walk away, his belt in his hand. He looks back at her and then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. She's locked in here again. She vows to be smarter next time. She'll make a better plan. One that won't end with her feeling sick all over again. A plan that ends with her freedom.

Washington, DC – July 2004

He spent all night baking a cake. He couldn't sleep. He laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling and wishing she was beside him. There are nights when he thinks he can feel her next to him. Nights where he startles awake and reaches for her in the dark. Nights where he drifts off, his arm still draped across the empty space. On nights when he forgets she's gone, he hates himself. How could he forget? But tonight, he gave up sleep.

Elizabeth should be turning thirty-six today. She should be alive to celebrate that. She should be here to eat her favorite cake (chocolate with mocha-flavored icing), which he is lovingly preparing now. She should be alive to drink her favorite wine, which he is decanting now for himself later. She should be alive to dance, sing, and laugh with him all night. She should be alive to tell him all the wonderful and terrible things she's experiencing. That's what a life partner is. Someone dedicated to sharing those things with you. He wishes she were still alive so he could talk to her and share the pain of losing her. He wishes he could show her how much he loves her. He wonders if her poor soul cannot rest due to his constant need to speak with her. He wonders if she found her parents, where ever she is. He wonders if they are protecting her, holding her, helping her wait for him.

He looks at the finished cake. Iced to perfection and sitting lively on the cake stand they received from Joan as a useless wedding gift. He wishes he wouldn't have baked it. It sits there, taunting him with her absence. Why celebrate a non-existent birthday? Why eat cake in a room without her in it? But it doesn't matter. He has already committed to the idea and is nothing if not committed.

He waits until the kids are awake. The little ones are excited that they get to eat cake for breakfast. But Stevie understands who the cake is for and what the cake means. He watches as she digs through the junk drawer in the kitchen. Her hands frantically moving as she searches for something. She pulls out the birthday candles and proudly holds them above her head. A lot like Elizabeth would, he thinks.

"I don't think we have thirty-six." She looks helplessly at her father, tears shining in her eyes, and Henry recovers quickly.

"I forgot to buy more. We'll get them today after we visit her..." He meant to add the word 'grave' to the end of that sentence, but he couldn't. It hurt too much to think about his wife in that way. But the answer appeases his daughter while frustrating the other two, who can no longer have cake for breakfast. He makes it up to them by serving them ice cream with their eggs.

…X…X…X…

Seeing her name in stone has not gotten easier for him. Memorials are for the living. He's always believed that. They were meant for people to visit their dead. To walk up the hill and look at their names chiseled into the cold, unfeeling stone. The thing is, Elizabeth was many things, not all of them good, as she was human, but she was never cold or unfeeling. Elizabeth radiated warmth and light. Her spirit was unbroken. He knew that the loss of her parents had left her with a scar, but she didn't let that steal her life. She never let darkness steal anything from her. She refused to let the dark weaken her soul.

It was a small thing that made her different. It was a thing that no one else saw but him. The way she handled the pain. So gracefully. Which had amazed him. If there is one thing one should not be graceful with, it's pain. But Elizabeth had a way about her. She dealt with things in a manner that calmed those around her. She let the world fall apart, but she held herself together. She lived her life optimistically. He hated to admit it, but he was drawn to her for that. He had a hard time with optimism. He wanted to be with someone who would see the world as she did.

"Hi, Mommy." He's pulled from his thoughts at Allison's words. He hadn't been sure that she genuinely understood what Elizabeth's grave was. Five years old is young enough to have still the imagination rule over reason. She knew her mother was dead, but he hadn't thought she understood the meaning behind visiting her grave. But the stone can't speak back. And his little Allison starts to cry. And he knows she thought there might be a chance it would. He reaches over and scoops her into his arms as well as he can while holding Jason. No one had mentioned that he wouldn't have enough arms before the kids were born. He was sure he would.

"I'm so sorry, Noodle." He says the instinctual words spoken after death, realizing she most likely doesn't understand that either. He doesn't get to talk to Elizabeth. He needs to get his kids out of here. He has Stevie lay the flowers, and he promises to come back.

…X…X…X…

They did stop at the store to get the candles. And then Elizabeth's favorite Chinese place. Where the food was nice and greasy. Which was Elizabeth's key endorsement of any Chinese restaurant. After they eat, he lets Stevie and Allison put all thirty-six candles in the cake. He has a brief lapse of judgment when he snaps a picture to show Elizabeth. But then he remembers she can't see it. She'll never see this moment. Their daughters' cooperation and childlike perfection as they carefully space the candles. Henry doesn't want to ruin it, so he waits until they're ready to light the candles.

They sing for their mother. The song is perfect as three very young voices sing it. They're off-key and off-rhythm. They're his babies, and he loves them so much it hurts. And God, he wishes Elizabeth could see them. She would love this too. He wishes he could record this moment. But he'll have to settle for the memory of their faces and how he can almost still feel her spirit here. But only almost.

He pours himself a glass of wine after he tucks the kids in. He sits on the couch and flips through their photos. Photos of their quick courthouse wedding. Photos of Elizabeth cradling her growing pregnant belly. Photos of Elizabeth cradling the girls, the kids in Elizabeth's arms, the kids asleep on Elizabeth's chest. Tears spring to his eyes when he finds the Polaroid. The one that shouldn't be with the other family photos, given its content. His beautiful wife stares back at him, her eyes shiny with lust and love. She's looking over the camera, looking at the photographer, looking at him. The memory flashes before him, her giggle and then biting her lip. And everything that followed. There was nothing that could've hurt them that night. Nothing could've broken that newlywed bliss they found themselves in. The lust, the love, and the need. It was so strong. He swallows a sob as loneliness creeps in on him. He feels it seep into his bones, his soul. He hates that it's the thing that feels the strongest. That he's filled with loneliness. Not joy. Not love. Just another night alone in a cold bed.