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He never tracks mud or dirt in their house, he is much too good at his job for that. When Mack comes home, the only thing left is a brand new set of scars to match the rest.
“Hey, baby.”
It’s a welcome back as good as any other when she turns her head for him to press a soft one to the base of her neck. It is gentle, and sweet, and as he smiles, Tiffy has to wonder how many people out there has her husband’s face as the last one they see.
“Tough one?” She asks, careful of the fresh butterfly bandages holding a jagged cut in place. There is no intent in her question because she has never needed to know the details to know. It is what makes her an operator’s wife instead of an army one.
“I’m home, aren’t I?”
And this too is an answer as good as any other.
Tiffy knows exactly what she signed up for when she lies in bed with the other side empty save for clean sheets and a kind of resigned acceptance that settles where Mack should be. His go-bag missing from where it belongs in their closet, the truck already long gone from their driveway.
She once made him a promise that she will be okay with whatever out there.
That is his place in the world, not hers.
It’s a score she understands for far longer than when it becomes not enough. That he is always going to put the work before her. They are destructive on their own and together and it’s not a good kind of love when he only loves her in those moments when he can be with her. His absence says what he does not have the heart or the words for. Tiffy is not about to ask of him what he cannot give of his own volition.
They make their bed and they lie in it.
There is a weight on his shoulders that she is not strong enough to carry the rest of the way through. There is going to be a day when they both come clean and it will not be pretty.
Instead, she tells him this.
“It’s good to have you home, Mack.”
She will do her fair share of hurting until then.