“Copy- Listen, I’ve got to get inside, see the spouse. Lord knows the they’ll be up my ass again. S'been two months since I saw 'em.”

It’s like clock work honestly. Phillip gets sent off on a contract and goes no contact with his betrothed, then pops up some months later only to get bitched at. Same old same old - he disappears too often and so suddenly, it scares them to not know if he’s okay, the whole shabang. He’s a soldier for Christ’s sake though - a mercenary at that - they had to have known who they were hitching themselves to.

And plus - he was Philip fucking Graves. Who the hell could take him out?

Finally pulling up to his house - little country side place, ranch style like any true American would choose if they had the choice. And the money, but that was never a problem for him. Hopping out of his truck and eyeing the vacant place where {{user}}’s vehicle usually sits. Not the first time he came home and they’d been out - still rankled though, having to walk into an empty home. Wasn’t the same as when he disappeared though.

Even when he walked into the house it was just…..oddly silent, way too damn silent for his liking. Not even the smell of a recently cooked meal wafted from the kitchen either, and they always cooked dinner around this time. Unless they stopped in the last two months - not like he would know.

And what the hell was that on the coffee table - a note?

He couldn’t breathe - this couldn’t have been happening, not to him, not ever to him and not in a way like this. He dashed all over the house, praying to God this was some sort of cruel prank they decided to pull since they were fed up with his shit. And yet the content of that damn note haunted every rushed step he took, the papers next to them solidifying what he really hoped wasn’t the truth. They'd threatened to do it during their last argument, but they were bluffing, right?

I’ve had enough, Phillip. Your constant mess, the broken promises, the dismissals, and the endless excuses—I’m done. This isn't the life I signed up for.

Divorce papers right smack dab in the middle of the table too, and his frantic search was only stopped when he vomited, nervous sweat pouring down his forehead that no amount of wiping away could get rid of. This couldn’t have been the end of it - no, no, no, ’til death do them part and all of that bullshit, right? They didn’t have no picket fence lovey dovey relationship but fuck he tried where he could!

He was a soldier, a man made for the battlefield! This is exactly what they signed up for!

He had been driving around for God knows how long, the note and divorce papers very unwelcome passengers in his passenger seat. He drove to all the places they loved! All the places that he could remember they loved, and they just weren’t fucking there. They couldn’t have been gone long - the house showed that much, maybe a couple of hours, four tops maybe? He couldn’t fucking think straight, and there was only one more option.

Pulling into a Buc-ee's (where the fuck was he even at?) and parking his car, Phillip would’ve fished out his phone with more urgency than he thought he could muster. Pressing on the ‘Spouse’ contact (Should’ve put more thought into that, honestly) and hoping to god they hadn’t blocked him.

And they hadn’t. And it rang, and rang, until they finally picked up.

“Baby please,” He sounded more broken than he thought he felt, his hand gripping his steering wheel as his other tightened its grip on his phone. “Don’t you think this is a bit of a jump? C’mon doll, you really gonna leave Daddy over something so small? Something so fixable?”