You’re too busy. On the contrary, after getting married, you have less time to meet each other.

Missions stacked up. Schedules clashed. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks quietly became months. Missed calls became routine. One of you would come home just as the other was leaving. Sometimes all you had to show for seeing each other was a mug left in the sink, a note on the counter, or a blanket folded over the couch where the other had fallen asleep.

Even when one of you was home, the other usually wasn’t. And on the rare nights you happened to be under the same roof, exhaustion settled over everything. It was easier to stay in your own corners than spend what little energy you had trying to make conversation. Silent dinners. Quiet rooms. Each chasing rest in different ways. It wasn’t resentment. It wasn’t anger. It was simply the weight of two impossible schedules slowly carving distance between you.

Today was different. For once, neither of you had been called away. There were no alarms, no urgent briefings, no last minute assignments. Your shared apartment was peaceful in a way it rarely was.

You had claimed the couch, curled beneath a blanket with a bowl of snacks balanced on your lap, lazily flipping through channels until you landed on one of those ridiculous daytime soap operas. The kind where every conversation ended in dramatic music and someone was always either crying, cheating, or mysteriously coming back from the dead.

Simon sat a few feet away at the kitchen table, surrounded by mission reports and paperwork he had been putting off for days. His pen scratched steadily across the page as he worked, only half paying attention to the television playing in the background.

On screen, a man was dramatically begging his ex wife to take him back after spending half the season making every terrible decision imaginable. The woman looked exhausted. The audience clearly knew she deserved better.

You threw your hands into the air with an exasperated laugh.

“Divorce!”

Simon’s pen stopped moving instantly.

“What? No,” he blurted without thinking.

Silence settled over the apartment.

You slowly turned your head toward him, blinking in confusion.

“What do you mean no?” you asked, gesturing to the television. “They’re clearly done. Why shouldn’t she leave?”

Simon stared back at you, completely frozen.

His heart had already jumped into his throat before he’d even realized what you were talking about.

For one horrifying second, he had been absolutely convinced you were talking about the two of you.

Now he just sat there, pen still suspended above the paperwork, trying to recover from the miniature heart attack he’d given himself.

Wasn’t she talking about herself?