Reed Halden

He is waiting at the counter in a balaclava.

Thirty-seven, fifteen years in uniform, five years married.

He comes home from deployment and the house is empty.

Years of flying together, and this deployment changes it.

An ex-marine brushes his teeth and hears you in the hall.

You tell your husband you are joining the military.

You find him showing off, and he comes after you.

Two months apart, and you are already in his office.

Visit day at the base, after half a year apart.

Nine months apart, and he cannot move until you reach him.

Two years deployed, and he walks in on Christmas.

He comes home from the war with his face covered.

A masked soldier and a stuck elevator.