The fireplace crackles, but no one observes the logs collapsing as the fire consumes them.

"I'm sorry, I know we said the last tour was the last one, but with the recent Ebola outbreak… There aren't many people who have my skill set."

She looks down, watching the steam unfurl above the cup of chamomile. She sits curled up on the couch, her knees pulled close to her chest, the cup of tea almost too hot resting on the knees of her flannel pajamas. Her husband sits facing her on the other side of the couch, the cushion between them feeling like a crater. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. You haven't been home for four of the six years our daughter has been alive. You've only spent 8 non-consecutive weeks with our son."

"Sharon," he reaches forward to place a hand on a knee, cradling her hand that in turn cradles the steaming cup. "I know this is hard."

"Hard?" she interjects, "No. We have gotten used to living without you, suck in this small town with no jobs for me and not enough things for the kids to do." She pauses and sighs, "Listen, I get that your job is more important to you than us—"

"It's not. My job could never—" He starts to interject, but she continues without pause.

"—but if you want a home to come back to, it can't be here. Not anymore."

"What," he adjusts to lean closer to her, "what do you mean?"

"I mean it is time for me to get my life back. I can't, we can't, just exist like a toy in a box that will just wait for you to come back. Tomorrow I'm going to start looking for jobs. I'm looking in every major city I would feel comfortable living in. And then, we are going to sell the house and move."

"Don't I have a say in this?"

"You have broken every promise you have made to us. You have signed up for voluntary deployments, Re-upped twice, and lied about it. No, until you start keeping your promises, you don't get a say in our family's lives."

"Do you… Do you want a divorce?"

"I don't know," she sighs, "not really. But I can't keep just waiting around in permanent limbo for you. The kids, they deserve better. You have been gone more than you have been here for almost our whole marriage. It isn't fair for you to dictate where we live anymore. The only reason we held out so long waiting for you was because last time was supposed to be the last time. Just like the time before that, and the time before that."

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"This will be the last time, I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing anymore. You've only been home for three weeks and you are already out the door."

"But this is our home. Our children were born here."

"You missed both their births."

"There was a refugee crisis and an outbreak in—"

"I don't care about your excuses anymore. I'm talking to a realtor tomorrow and then I'm going to start packing. The only question you need to answer is if I am putting your stuff into storage or moving it with ours."

He leans back, "Let's just take a step back. We can talk about this again when I call from the ground tomorrow. Don't make any rash decisions." Then he claps her familiarly on the thigh before standing and gathering his luggage.

She stands, placing her cup gently on the table before walking him to the door. "It's not a rash decision. We won't be here when you come back."

He kisses her on the forehead, "I'll call tomorrow. Give my love to the kids, I have to go or I'll be late for the flight."

"Yeah, talk to you tomorrow. Despite everything, I do love you."

He nods and walks out. She locks and bolts the door behind him, then walks back to the couch, numb. She isn't sure how long she sat there, and before she realizes it, the fire is reduced to a glow of embers and her cup is empty and cold. Leaving the cup and the unfinished dishes where they are, she goes to bed. Dishes and cleaning can wait until morning.

Morning arrives, and she wakes with a 6- and 3-year-old snuggled close and snoring around her. If they joined her in the night, then they already know Daddy is gone. Off chasing the opportunity to be a hero that arrived in the form of a phone call last night during dinner.

The routine runs smoothly, getting the kids out the door to preschool and first grade. They don't even ask, used to Daddy coming and going as he pleases. She picks up moving boxes on the way home and orders a couple of moving pods.

Within a week, all his stuff is packed and she has 14 interviews lined up in cities all over the country. By the end of the month, she has a job offer, the house is up for sale, and the rest of the house is packed in the second moving pod.

When he returns seven months later, there is another family playing in the front yard. She and the kids now live over a hundred miles away in a new apartment with a new life.

He never thought they would move on. He believed they would be there forever whenever he wanted to see them. They told him they moved, but he didn't believe them. He couldn't believe that after all the lies and neglect they would be done. But they were done waiting for him to put them first, and having moved on, were happier for it.