Cress didn't see any point in it.

She had made her decision a long time ago. It had been several years coming. She just hadn't bothered to tell anyone before, least of all him. If he cared at all, if he paid any attention to her—then he would have realized it on his own anyway. He would have known that she was unhappy.

Known that she would eventually want out.

But that was exactly the problem—he didn't pay attention. And he certainly didn't care. He was as metaphorically blind to her now as he had literally been all those years ago in the desert. That was when they had first fallen for each other.

It was laughable now.

How could she have thought that the two of them would ever be compatible? It was her first love, and first loves hardly ever lasted. If only she hadn't been trapped in the satellite, if only he hadn't kissed her on a rooftop, if only they hadn't gone through a war together.

Maybe then she would have had the opportunity to see that there were other men out there.

-o-

It was hard to tell in the beginning of their marriage.

After all, they were "madly in love," weren't they? After everything that had happened with Levana, they thought they could conquer anything. As long as they were together, nothing would be impossible.

Oh, those early years of private jokes, passionate nights, and soul-stimulating conversations that went on for hours.

But then she'd fallen ill, and she hadn't gotten better for a long time. He'd lost his job after taking her to so many doctor appointments. Their friends helped them out financially, but it wasn't the same as being independent. She became dependent on his care, and his happiness became dependent on hers. While his carefree attitude and charisma tided them over in the beginning, the debilitating nature of it all slowly chipped away at him too. Her optimism crumbled, and consequently so did his.

She blamed herself. If she'd never gotten sick, maybe this wouldn't have happened. He tried not to let it show, but she knew he blamed her too. She had stolen his livelihood. Stolen his free time doing the things he loved. Stolen his chance at a dream job.

Stolen his life.

It just wasn't the marriage he had signed up for.

But wasn't he was supposed to be strong when she was weak? Wasn't he supposed to be the sun when she could see no light? Wasn't he supposed to be there in health and sickness? At least that had been his vow to her.

(The net dramas about couples dealing with illness were all fake).

(So were the dramas about love).

When she noticed him begin to pull away, she closed herself off, but only because she wanted him to meet her in that place in her mind. She needed him to understand what she was going through—or at least try. Every day for her had become a battle to live, a battle to keep going.

He could see that every day. Who would be able to understand her, if not him?

But he closed himself off to her in turn, unwilling to penetrate the walls she'd begun to put around her for her own protection.

Her own sanity.

To everyone else, her illness became her identity, as if nothing else about her was important anymore.

He stopped asking how she was, because the answer was never what he wanted to hear.

-o-

Getting better had been a slow process—three long years to be exact, and when it was finally over, they'd hardly celebrated. They tried to pick up where they left off, but it didn't feel natural anymore.

They were already too disconnected.

(Why would she want to connect with someone now who refused to do so when she had needed it the most?)

Passionate nights had faded into distant memories of when she didn't feel like she was constantly alone; soul-stimulating conversations turned into her wishing that they could talk about anything that was actually important without getting defensive.

And now that she was healthy, he complained that they didn't spend enough time in bed together. She argued that the seven to eight hours of sleep they got per night was far too much time on the same mattress already. He would grumble about how she didn't pay attention to his needs, and she would retort that if he even began to meet hers, they would never even need to have this conversation in the first place.

They both tried to start living again. He finally had time to get another job, and she decided not to work so that she could finally do something active with her life. They both picked up new hobbies that were separate of each other.

Soon being together just meant existing in the same room.

-o-

And so it continued.

Year after year.

Until she couldn't even remember why she'd fallen in love with him in the first place.

-o-

Now, after she'd already made her decision—now he wanted to go to therapy.

Wanted to "start over."

"Didn't want to lose her."

Couldn't he see that he already had?