March Into Hell

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Mark Taylor clenched his jaw in an attempt to bite back the anger and hurt. He turned his back, unable to watch as she packed her bags. Already the apartment seemed emptier, as though all the energy had been sucked out. He wandered to the dresser and picked up the photo of the two of them in front of the Ferris Wheel at Navy Pier. What a great day that had been, his first carefree day in almost two years.

He faced her. "Why? Can you give me that much, Jess?"

She paused as she zipped the suitcase, her blond hair forming a curtain that hid her face from his view, but he heard the catch in her voice. "I just need some time to clear my head."

After closing the suitcase, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. The tears swimming in her eyes tore at him, and if he could take away her pain, he'd do it in a flash.

"It's not you, Mark." She bit her lip, her expression wavering as she spread her arms. "It's everything. The camera, your CIA job, the dreams…I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong."

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