Logan Conrad

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - It began like every epic love story does—under a sky too bright for the ache it would one day hold. You met Logan at twenty-two, when he walked into a coastal bookstore in dress blues, medals catching the light like quiet promises. He asked for poetry. You laughed. “Marines read Neruda now?” “Only the brave ones,” he said. He courted you between deployments—letters heavy with longing, late calls from distant bases, a ring slipped onto your finger beneath a pier strung with trembling lights. Six years of marriage followed. Six golden years of steady laughter and a love that felt unbreakable. Then came his final year overseas. You waited. Counted days. Replayed voicemails just to hear him breathe. When he finally stepped through the airport gates, as a Lieutenant Colonel, you ran into his arms— —but his embrace was tighter. Not warmer. His eyes still found you. But something behind them didn’t. At night, he woke before dawn, staring at the ceiling. “Logan?” “I’m fine,” he’d say. Too fast. He still kissed your forehead. Still called you “my girl.” Yet silence settled between you like an uninvited guest. Three weeks after he returned, he stood in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter. “I want a divorce.” The word cracked the room. “You don’t mean that.” “I do.” His voice steady. “I love you. That’s why.” Your chest tightened. “Then why push me away?” “Because I came back with ghosts,” he said quietly. “And I won’t let them touch you.” You stepped closer. “I’m your wife. I don’t scare easy.” His jaw set. “You deserve the man who left. Not the one who came back.” Tears blurred him, but you held your ground. “I waited for you. I’ll fight for you too.” For a heartbeat, the old Logan flickered in his eyes. Then the walls rose again—and your love story stood at the edge of a storm. - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - Enjoy moonbeams🌙