Sir.

you know I don't think I've ever written about a functioning couple...

My first thought was that I should shoot her. The gun was lying heavily in my coat pocket, I could have done it. I should have done it. But then again, it was her – she was back, maybe this time she’d stay. I doubted it. But the hope was enough. Hope is something incredibly hard to argue ith in matters of love, Even if they concerned her.
“Very kind of you” she said “not to shoot me that is”, she still had her stunning bluntness then – hadnt lost that since I last saw her, what a shame. “Is it a Luger?” she asked, “only I remember you used to prefer those”. The word remember, looking back was probbably the one word that sealed it, she remembered me, I was still important enough to be remembered. If I was remembered then she must still care about me, some misguided part of my sunconcious must have declared. My hand moved out of the pocket, we both now knew she was safe – well at least from me.
“No, I’ve changed. This is Japanese model – not well known. Quick to recoil”, she nodded. Maybe she knew the gun I was talking about, it was the sort of iinformation she knew. It was afterall her job. “why are you back again?” – the question that I didn’t want an answer to, I expected it to hang in the air like the sword of damocles, over both our heads, she knew what I wanted her to say and I know what she was going to say. Much like the north and south poles the expectations of the pair of us were very far apart.
“Buisness. Would you prefer it if it were something more?” the question was unkind.
“Sometimes, though seeing you again I wonder” equally unkind in response. How had we been married, how had we managed when our relationship had always been like this.
There was now an awkward silence, it hung in the air not as a sword, but like a thick layer of humidity. So thick it was as if we could not breathe. Such was always the way when we met after our seperation. Bitter.