Mr. and Mrs. Frost [completed]

XXX: Alive

Jack slammed the door behind him as he stumbled out of the jeep, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had happened. His legs were unsteady, as if the ground beneath him was no longer solid. He didn't want to go back to the house, but he knew there was no choice. He didn't want to face what awaited him, but the reality was already creeping in—he had to face it.

The sound of Bunny's voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. "Jack!" he called from behind him. He didn't turn, but his feet slowed to a stop. He didn't want to hear it, but he knew he had no other option.

"The chief is giving you three days to sort all your things in the house to move out."

Jack didn't respond. He just nodded absently, as if he could move through the motions without actually living them. With a hollow sense of resignation, he stepped forward, the weight of every step heavier than the last. The gate creaked as it closed behind him.

Entering the house, the familiar scent of Elsa that had once filled the air now felt like a cruel mockery. The lights flickered on, but the house seemed darker than ever. It felt... dead. The walls that once echoed with laughter, shared conversations, and warmth, now stood silent and cold, like an abandoned shell of the life they had built together. Her absence was suffocating. He couldn't breathe in this place anymore. His heart hammered painfully in his chest as he made his way up the stairs, his feet dragging with each step.

Every corner of the house reminded him of her. Every picture, every memory, every soft whisper of the past, haunted him. But it was Elsa's room that he couldn't escape from, and his feet led him there, against his will.

The door creaked open, and for the first time, Jack stood at the threshold of her space—her sanctuary. He hadn't dared to enter before; this room was always her space. But now, in the eerie stillness of the house, it felt like a final, unavoidable confrontation. He stepped inside, the quiet almost suffocating. The bed was untouched, as if she had never slept there. The space was meticulously organized, everything in its place, yet it felt like a hollow echo of the woman he loved.

His eyes wandered, his body moving in a daze. A six-foot flat-screen mounted on the wall, a desk cluttered with documents—his gaze settled on one of the papers. It wasn't the papers or the screen that caught his attention though. It was something else.

On the table, neatly folded, was a scarf—her scarf. His breath caught in his throat as he slowly approached, his hands trembling. There, just above the scarf, was a letter, addressed to him. His chest tightened as he picked it up, unfolding it with hands that could barely hold steady.

The letter was familiar, yet foreign. The handwriting was hers, and yet, seeing her words in front of him felt like an unbearable weight crashing down.

Dear Jack,

If you are reading this then something bad has happened to me, something that I couldn't tell you in person. There are so many things I want to tell you...

The words blurred together, but Jack forced himself to read. Each line sank deeper into his soul like a dagger to the heart.

I guess I should start by saying sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for doing something stupid, but that was the only way I knew to protect you, your family, and mine...

The tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn't even realize it, his chest tightening, as the memory of her voice echoed in his mind.

I was caught by Pitch. He threatened me that if I didn't stay away from his wife, your life would be in danger. And as a CIA agent, it's my responsibility to finish this case. But I love you, Jack... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you.