The first crack appeared on a run-of-the-mill Tuesday.

Sarah had not noticed it initially—not when Lucas came home late from work one night with his shirt sleeves rolled up and exhaustion etched on his face. Not when he kissed her routinely on the forehead instead of lingering as he would. Not even when he stared blankly at his dinner, pushing the food about his plate with mechanical movements.

But then he forgot their anniversary.

Not forgotten—forgotten. Like, didn't come home until midnight, phone was dead, excuses were lame. And then when she dared to confront him, his eyes went dark in a way she had not witnessed in years.

"You think I did it on purpose?" His voice was low and menacing.

Sarah flinched. That tone—it was the same one he’d used back when they were broken, back when they’d hurt each other too much to fix.

Old ghosts stirred between them.

The arguments came after that—sharp, sudden things that flared like struck matches.

“You’re never present anymore!”

“You’re suffocating me!

Words meant to wound. Words they’d sworn they’d never use again.

Sarah started sleeping on the couch. Lucas started drinking his whiskey straight at the kitchen counter, his shoulders knotted with something that was almost too much regret.

And then the letter.

Sarah had found it by accident, buried in the back of Lucas's desk drawer when she was searching for a pen. The envelope was new, the return address illegible—Clearview Rehabilitation Center.

Her hands shook as she opened it.

There was one piece of paper in it, dated three weeks before:

Mr. Carter,

We are sorry to inform you that your father has departed from treatment against medical advice.

The words blurred together. Lucas never mentioned this. Never mentioned him. Not once all these years.

That evening, she waited for him in the dark.

You lied to me," she accused the moment he walked in.

Lucas's eyes widened. Then his face closed. "I didn't lie."

"You concealed it!" Her voice broke. "After all we promised—all the no more secrets, no more running—you did this without speaking to me?"

For a moment, he looked crushed. Then he gritted his jaw. "You want to talk about concealing? Where were you last Thursday night?

Sarah winced. "I was at Mia's."

"Bullshit." He advanced on her, his eyes blazing. "I called her. She hadn't heard from you in weeks."

She exhaled. Because *God*, he was right—she'd lied. She'd sat in her car parked outside her old apartment, looking at the life she'd left behind, wondering whether they'd actually changed or if they were better at faking it.

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything they weren’t saying.

Then Lucas exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “We’re doing it again,” he said hoarsely. “Pushing. Pulling. Waiting for the other to break.”

Sarah closed her eyes. The truth of it ached.

But then—

A touch. Warm fingers brushing hers.

She opened her eyes to find Lucas holding out his hand, his expression open.

"Pick me," he murmured. "Again."

And in that moment, the dam burst.

She took his hand. He pulled her close. And there, amidst the wreckage of their failures, they clung to one another—not because it was easy, but because this was the challenge.

Not if they could love when life was simple.

But if they'd fight like hell when they weren't.