>He was taught a man shouldn't complain
    >Keep your mouth shut and harden up, he had been told times and times over
    >it had done him some good
    >he barely complained at all
    >at anything
    >the older kids in school was on him, but he pulled through
    >he even started putting things in his lunch sandwiches to mess with his tormentors
    >he didn't complain
    >when his bike broke, he fixed it
    >when mom passed away he stayed strong, family had to be held together some way after all
    >when he had to go an hour and a half to school, he never once complained about that
    >he spent extra time at a part time job and got a car
    >when it broke, he fixed it
    >not a single complaint here either
    >when his woman was sad, he comforted her
    >gave her a shoulder to cry on
    >when her water broke, he drove the car to hospital himself
    >he stayed with her all night
    >he had not slept, or eaten
    >but he didn't complain
    >he simply did what was required
    >not once did he complain about the child screaming in the night when it wanted closeness
    >when he had to enlist, he didn't complain
    >never complained about the food 
    >or the boots that hurt his feet
    >or the heavy rifle 
    >or the heavy sack on his back
    >or the long marches
    >or the cold night hours 
    >he pulled through
    >Neither did he complain when he had to go to war
    >the long plane ride
    >the scorching days
    >the freezing nights
    >all the sand
    >he pulled through
    >he didn't say anything when the letter came
    >his wife had betrayed him
    >She was with someone else now
    >of course she took the child with her
    >he couldn't be there to appeal to a court
    >to plead to see his child one more time
    >or even ask her “Why?”
    >But no one wanted to hear him complain
    >so he kept quiet
    >Neither did he complain when the only thing he could afford was the smallest of apartments
    >or at his low paying job
    >or the nightmares that haunted him
    >he didn't complain when the only thing his dad left him specifically was that old rifle
    >his sister was some big shot now 
    >She deserved the rest, apparently
    >and she didn't want the rifle
    >of course no one can complain to anyone when you are slowly driven into insanity
    >he didn't complain to anyone, staring into a noose 
    >or when he went to bed crying, because he thought himself weak
    >you can't complain to anyone when you're alone
    >Of course she knew that
    >She just appeared from the rifle one day
    >took care of the man
    >helped to pull him back
    >helped him clean himself up
    >helped him get his hope back
    >his enthusiasm for life back
    >he didn't have to complain now
    >he found another work 
    >could pull some more money in
    >he could start enjoying life
    >the 28th of October, she was gone 
    >She wasn't at home
    >the rifle was gone
    >She didn't take anything with her
    >just gone
    >did she leave?
    >was she taken?
    >the man had no way to tell
    >he went to the bottle 
    >it comforted him occasionally
    >it made him cry and shake
    >he lost friends
    >lost interest in everything 
    >the missed calls started piling up on his phone
    >and then the messages that said “I've had enough with you”
    >As if that mattered anymore
    >there wasn't even any point of jumping of a bridge
    >there wasn't any point in anything
    >he had simply given up
    >on life
    >on joy
    >on love

    >seven days turned into a week
    >four weeks turned into a month
    >four months turned into a season
    >he was a dead man walking at this point
    >A shadow of his former self
    >his eyes were hollow
    >his skin was pale
    >bags under his eyes
    >four months had he been a ghost

    >Sometimes he didn’t notice how day turned to night
    >how he needed to eat
    >how the neighbours screamed at each other
    >how the police flew by outside
    >the occasional shooting
    >how someone banged on the door
“Anyone in there?”

>there was someone in here
>long ago
>just a shell now
>the man buried his face in the couch

“Please, it’s Bella, anyone in there?”

>Bella?
>Bella that saved him?
>Bella that was just gone one day?
>Bella he loved?

>He stumbled up from the couch, tripped over some empty box
>But soon on his legs again, he made his way towards the door
>fumbled with the keys, and the little chain, and...
>Bella was there
>He couldn’t say much
>he tried, but the words came out one by one
>They didn’t form any sentences
>not any proper ones at least

>She didn’t care much
>A bold step forwards and embraced him
>he cried
>This is what it took to make him cry
>completely break down
>He stood like that for a while
>Arms wrapped around her figure
>face in her shoulder
>on his own porch

>The two disappeared inside
>It got a little quiet for a while
>not much sounds
>not much anything 
>about 10 minutes later, Bella picks up a phone, dials a number she knows by head
>A woman answers, chats a little bit and then the line goes quiet
>the woman takes the cellphone away from her ear and puts it to her chest

It's all… good

>She says that, and sounds happy from the bottom of her heart
>her only reply is a smile and a nod
>just a little later, an old black car rumbles to life and leaves the parking lot, heading away