It began the night I found my husband’s suitcase by the door, packed tight, his eyes refusing to meet mine. Our story was always marked by distance: he came from Detroit, while I grew up in a small Ohio town. Through his military service, our whirlwind romance, and the strain of being far from his family, we tried to build a life, but love and duty don’t always walk hand in hand. Now, as I reread the journal entries I wrote during our unraveling, I wonder: was choosing each other ever enough?