Price | Price list

You're sitting in the kitchen, clutching a mug. John hasn't returned by 11:30 PM. It's two in the morning. When the front door finally creaks, you feel no relief, only a wave of nausea.

Price enters the living room. He looks exhausted.

“You’re not sleeping,” he states without taking off his wet jacket.

-Where were you, John? Back at the base? Or at the flower shop? - Your voice trembles with suppressed rage. - I saw the box. I saw you in town with a bouquet. Stop lying to my face. If you've found someone else, have the courage to say it now.

Price is silent. He takes a step forward, but you pull away.

• Don't come near me. The password on the phone, the constant business trips, the mark on my neck... Do you think I'm stupid?

John sighs heavily. He slowly takes the notebook he always hid in the safe out of his inside pocket and places it on the table, on top of your divorce papers.

“Read,” he says curtly. “The last entry.”

You open your notebook. There, in clumsy handwriting, is written: "October 25. Leaving. The group is in the car. She told me not to come back. It hurt. Probably deservedly so. I'm a bad husband, but I tried to be a good shield. I hid the pendant in the safe. I hope she finds it if I don't come back."

You look up. Price stands before you, and all his feigned weariness crumbles. Before you is simply a man who bears too many deaths on his shoulders.

"The roses were for Roach. Three years today," he says quietly. "And the smell... they blew up a medical supply depot at the hospital. I was pulling out civilians. It wasn't perfume, it was damn chemicals. I kept quiet because I didn't want you to see what I saw."

He pauses, and for the first time in a long time, fear appears in his eyes. Fear of losing you.

If you want to leave, then leave. But don't think there was another. For me, there never was another.