[text message sound] “And that’s how you jump out of an airplane, babe.” He told me — just because I’m thousands of miles away, I will be so present in your life. “Phew, made it safe.” “Good morning, darling. The cell service here isn’t that great.” He told me that they were going to not return to that base that night— different mission. I told him I loved him. Love you too, darling. I’ll talk to you as soon as I get back to base. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” And the rest is just a big blur. When Dustin was in Africa, that mailbox was exciting. I would skip to it. He sent four letters. He gave me one at the airport when he left. Every letter after that came with 30 index cards. I was supposed to read an index card every day that I woke up. I saw him from across the crowd with his hat on and his sweaty shirt. I said, “Hey!” He’s like, “Hi.” He’s like, “Um, want to dance?” I’m like, “Yes, I do.” It was a feeling that I never felt with anyone else, of just completeness. I have the original dog tag that he put around my neck before he left for this deployment. This was the week that Dustin would have been coming home. His stuff came back from Africa. I found every receipt from every interaction we had. I found little notes of things he wanted to tell me. I just wanted my lips on his lips. I have all these wonderful memories. This grand love story. But all my heart wants is just him to be on my couch right now, watching Netflix and being normal. I want to make him dinner. And I want ... That’s all we wanted. I would love to hear new words from him. But he gave me a lot of good stuff. Still to this day, that mailbox is my favorite thing, and it’s what haunts me. “Hey, darling. I just read your letter, and I don’t know how you were able to put it in words exactly how both of us were feeling. How everything that we do for each other is genuine and real ...”