Page 20 of Returned Mail

Chapter Six

Monica

The first few weeks are always the easiest.

Is not that I miss him less, but the hope is still fresh. The countdown still feels manageable. Seven months sounds survivable when you're only three weeks in. It's later that it starts to break you. When the novelty wears off. When everyone stops asking how you're doing. When the days stop moving and start repeating.

You wake up, go to work, come home, sleep, and repeat.

The waiting is the part nobody talks about.

From: George

Subject: Day 18

Morning, beautiful.

It's 0300 here, and I can't sleep. Figured I'd write before heading out.

The coffee still tastes like garbage, and my bunk still squeaks every time I move. And somehow Jackson still snores loud enough to shake the entire building.

Some things never change, I guess.

How are you? How's work?

I miss you.

Love you,

George

I smile while reading it.

For a second, it feels normal. It feels like he's just away on a business trip. Like he'll walk through the door tonight with that crooked grin and his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, complaining about airport security and asking what's for dinner.

I type back immediately, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

From: Monica

To: George

Re: Day 18

I’m good, and work is busy as always. Everything here is fine.

I miss you too.

Love you.

Monica

The first month passes like that.

Emails every day. Photos. Him in front of some nondescript building, squinting into the sun. Me on the couch. Updates. Tiny pieces of normal life sent across oceans and time zones and whatever classified location he's not allowed to say.

I live for the notification sound.

That little chime on my phone becomes my favorite thing in the world. It is stupid, I know. But hearing from George means he's alive. Every email is proof of that. Every message means another day survived. Another day closer to the finish line.