Not an hour ago, Jace broke my heart. And no, it did not involve yelling. In fact, I barely said a few sentences when he told me.

Now, I'm on the streets and at this point, I can barely find it in me to stay calm. I never thought he'd leave me like that. As in, leave me. I can stop him, but what kind of a person would I be if I stopped him from doing what he wants to?

I want to stop him, to be a selfish person, but I love him too much to let him stay. If being stationed in Afghanistan is what he wants, I have to want that for him too. Because isn't that what love is?

'God, Clary, you're going to chew a hole through your lip,' Isabelle says as she paces back and forth. I can tell she's more nervous than me, which ticks me off. It's my problem.

'And you're going to wear a hole through my rug. It's Persian,' I snap, and then I immediately regret it when I see the look on Izzy's face. It's sympathetic; I hate sympathy. It's the emotion most people feel when they look at me. My life's that much of a mess.

Sympathy. It's a strange feeling. I don't like it when people feel it for me.

It'd been felt for me by the teachers when they had seen my bruises and scars my father inflicted when I was a child; it'd been felt for me by the police officers who took away my father; it'd been felt for me by the judge who sentenced my father to years in prison; it'd been felt for me by the foster families I lived with and it'd been felt by the majority of my friends. All, except Jace, who knows what it's like.

Jace. How am I going to tell him? I think as two pink lines appear on the stick. Isabelle peeks over my shoulder and gasps. And for once, I'm thankful when she plops down on the couch next to me, hugs me and says nothing for the next few minutes. And when she does, it's to make me laugh.

'I call dibs on being Godmother,' she says as she rests her chin on my head; I'm that short. I scoff.

'Over my dead body, Iz,' I say, playing along. Isabelle laughs.

'That's how the Godparent thing works, Clary,' she says and gets up to make me a cup of tea. I don't like tea, but Isabelle insists. I feel bad for the plant that's going to have Isabelle's tea drenching their roots by the end of our session.

Jace comes home late tonight, and I've been reading for the past few hours, waiting for him. The pregnancy test is in my bedside drawer and I've been waiting to tell him when he comes to the room.

I hear paper ripping, and then Jace's 'Oh fuck. Crap bastard shit. Ouch. Oh my God.' I laugh. I switch on the bigger light and watch as Jace limps around, clutching his pinky toe. I think I can actually see his eyes tear up a bit. I laugh harder and Jace chuckles through his pain.

'Not funny,' he gasps as his pain seems to subside. I reach for the drawer, but my hands freeze as my eyes fall on the envelope he'd been ripping open. The black and gold seal of the US Army is stamped on the top, and I think my heart stops in my chest.

I know Jace has been stationed overseas before, but that had been before all of his fellow soldiers were killed. I'd thought they wouldn't deploy him again after what happened.

Jace notices me looking at the letter because he sucks in a breath, his eyes flickering between me and the letter, clearly debating on how to handle the potential explosion.

I force myself to stay calm as I say, 'Are you—'my voice cracks. He nods.

'Are you going?' I ask, not wanting to look into his eyes because I know that if I do, I'll break down.

He nods. 'I got the letter a few months ago. I just didn't want to—'

'Why?' I ask, and I can hear the whine in my voice.

I can't help it as my eyes flick towards the exposed part of his chest. My name is tattooed there. He once promised me he'd get our family's names tattooed along with mine. And now, I can't help but think how our child's name might never make it here.

His engagement ring on my finger suddenly feels heavy.

I mumble an excuse and I grab my coat on my way out. Thank God I'm still wearing yoga pants and a shirt. I pull on flats and fling the door open, not bothering to reply to him calling my name.

I start walking, and I don't know where I'm going.

That's how I find myself back at the door of our apartment, after circling around our small town. I hesitate before I dig through my pockets for the key. I push open the door after what seems like forever and I see Jace sitting on the sofa of our small living room, the pregnancy test in one hand and his head buried in a cushion.

I don't know how he feels at the moment, so as quietly as I can, I take off my coat and hang it on the rack. I walk to where he sits, and I think he feels the sofa dip because he slowly raises his head. He says nothing and he opens his arms wide and I snuggle into him.

None of us say anything for a while and then he says, 'I leave day-after.'

And then there's crying. I don't know when, but the tears finally make their way past the barrier I'd kept up, and they're streaming down my face.

Thankfully, Jace simply holds me until I pass out. And I welcome the darkness, because after all that's happened, I need it.

The next day, I wake up to Jace shaking me awake by the shoulders. He wears a big goofy smile, and I'm actually stumped as to what could make him smile after what happened.

He sits on the edge of the bed like an excited Labrador. I honestly don't know what's gotten him so stoked. He tosses me a small bouquet of white lilies, and then he pulls on a tie over his pajama T-shirt. What the hell? Is he high?

He digs into a little plastic bag at the foot of our bed and pulls out a tiara.

'We're getting married,' he says so casually, like he's saying Coffee?

I look at him for a while before deciding, 'You're crazy. I'm going to sleep, Jace. It's eight. I'm not a fucking rooster.'

He pouts before his face grows serious. 'I am serious. I know we haven't talked about this, Clary, but we have to,' he tries to say but I pull the covers over my head. And before I know it, the covers are yanked off of me, leaving me in my bear onesie.

I'm calm. Like the kind before a storm. 'Jace, give me that back,' I say, pulling the hood of the onesie over my head to shield myself from the sunlight streaming through the window.

'Not before we talk about this,' he says, and I lose my shit.

'Talk about what? About how you're leaving tomorrow while I'm pregnant with your child? About how you may not be here for when I give birth to your child? About how you might not be here, period? Because—'

'Talk about the fact that I probably have one day left to make you mine?' he asks, and damn it, when he says things like that, it's honestly hard to stay mad at him. But then I remember what's going to happen, and my anger boils over again.

'Jace,' I sigh, 'you can't just drop such a bomb on me. Were you ever planning on telling me or were you just going to leave me to figure out where you were gone until I got a "killed-in-action" letter?'

His eyes widen. 'I was going to tell you that night. It was why I had the letter,' he says. 'I promise you, Clary, I'll be there for you. I'll be back in nine months, I promise. But I want to marry you before I leave. Now. Like, right now,' he says and places the tiara over my head over the onesie hood.

I roll me eyes. This is going to be such a sight.

Half an hour later, I stand at the altar with a disgruntled Isabelle behind me, and a mopey Alec behind Jace.

'Why does your impulsive decision to elope mess up my sleep clock? You two are—weird' she says while yawning. Alec grunts in agreement.

Magnus sits half-asleep in the front row on the left side. He is still clutching his bear and yawning every now and then. The ceremony goes by in a blur, mostly because Isabelle snaps at the minister to skip over the unimportant parts and—I quote—'get to the kissey kissey parts and let the lovebirds do their thing.'

'By the power vested in me by the state of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you husband and wife,' the minister declares.

We look at him expectantly.

'You may now kiss the bride,' he says after what seems like an hour.

Jace grins and brings his lips to mine. As much as a onesie would allow, I slip my arms around his neck and he knocks back my hood and winds my curls around his fingers. His lips slide across mine clumsily, and the Isabelle grumbles from behind me, 'God, keep it PG thirteen.'

Jace and I lie tangled in our sheets, my head on his bare chest. I can hear his heartbeat beneath me.

'I never asked you,' I say, lifting my head slightly to look at him, 'how you felt about the baby.'

He's silent for a while, absently playing with my hair and shutting his eyes. 'She's part you and part me,' he says. 'I love her. Not only because she's going to inherit all this awesomeness,' he says, gesturing to himself and I scoff, 'but also because she's going to inherit all this awesomeness.' He gestures to me.

'You're not mad?' I ask, though I know the answer.

He chuckles. 'Mad? At what? The fact that I have something in this world besides you, whom I can love?'

'Hmm.'

He thinks I don't notice when he sneaks out, but I do. He told me he'd leave in the morning the next day. I hope he's not going now. I don't think I could take it if he left without a goodbye.

I thank God as I hear the apartment door open and close again. Jace comes into the bedroom and he doesn't plop down on the bed like I expect him to. He sits on the small ottoman next to my side of the bed and rests his chin on his hand.

'It's creepy. Don't' I say as I flip over. He chuckles. I watch him as he goes over to the other side and crawls in beneath the covers.

'Where were you?' I ask him and he sighs.

'It was supposed to be a surprise,' he says, but I know he's falling apart when he sees my puppy-dog face. In one swift motion, he gets rid of his shirt and I see the white gauze bandage next to where my name was.

'Oh my God,' I shriek. 'What happened?'

He laughs. 'I'm not shot, Clary. Remember how I told you I'd get my family's names tattooed?' he asks hypothetically; of course I'd know.

He slowly peels off the gauze to reveal a word next to my name. One word, "Herondale". It's slightly red, and still healing, but it's there. And it's honestly the best wedding gift I can ask for. I think I'm crying because he kisses my cheek and then my lips, and I can taste salt.

I pull away and kiss the skin around the tattoo. He hisses at first, and then fists his hand in my hair. I trail the kisses upwards, and towards his neck, his jaw-line, the corner of his mouth and finally, his lips. I support myself with one arm and one snakes itself around his neck.

He flips us over, and then he's on top, doing the same things I did to him and so much more.

The next morning, I wake up to complete silence. I walk to the kitchen, and there's no Jace. I rush to our room, and I fling open his closet. His favorite shirt is gone, and in place of it is a note.

Clary,

I didn't want to say goodbye to your face because I don't think I would've been able to leave if I had. Know this: I don't want you to think that I love you any less because I left without saying goodbye in person. And if I had done that, would you have proof? This letter, it's forever.

I would say the words 'Good bye' to you but I don't think it ever applies to you because nothing with you will ever be a matter of 'hello' or 'goodbye'. Fuck, I'm not writing this right. Forgive me, I don't write for a living. With you, it's always a matter of 'Is Clary happy? Is she not? Do I need to slap myself if she's not? Do I need to make it possible to knee myself in my balls if she's not happy?' and I know how much this whole thing upsets you. But I have to do it and I'm not giving you some patriotic shit, just that I owe this to those who died last time.

I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. And if you do, I've written down my number at the back.

Jace

~Two months later~

Today, the letter arrived. I fell apart before I even opened it. But Isabelle read it for me, and I didn't need someone to read the letter to me to know he was gone. Gone, as in, deceased. It was a "killed-in-action" letter. It wasn't fair.

Out if all the people, it had to be Jace. I know I sound selfish, but I'm sure it's only apt I feel this way.

And now, I'm curled up on our bedroom floor with one of his shirts. Every time I think I'm done crying, another bout of tears overwhelm me. He's gone, and I'll never get to see him again, hear his laugh or feel his lips against mine. All while I knew this wasn't possible, I couldn't help but hope for one more time.

Everything is in place, as if he's still here. His cologne, his shirts, his watches, his shoes, and even his old cell phone. Everything was so clearly saved; our photos, texts, emails and chats. He'd saved everything. And so I spend the next few days going through everything, remapping our journey. The last of it is the letter I got today.

He broke his promise but he left me another, I think, looking at my little baby bump.

I'm supposed to identify the body. The morgue reeks of death, in the metaphorical way.

They slide the cover off his face, and I gasp. It's him. Somehow, I'd been denying it but now, seeing him this way, it makes it so much more real.

I ask them to slide the cover down further, and when they do, I see another addition to his tattoo. It's a name.

I squint, and it reads, 'Skylar Journey Herondale' along with a pattern of herons. The name is beautiful, and I know whom Jace meant for it to be.

A/N: Argh, I realized this got deleted. I actually published this a long time ago but I meant to delete Letters From Her and this one ended up in the trash. But here we are. I originally wrote this for a contest at Kelpie's Korner, and it was a runner up.

It was inspired by a scene in Nefertiti, a book by Michelle Moran. If you've read it, you'll know what I'm talking about. But, Nefertiti had a happy ending for the protagonist (I think...?). Well, she didn't die, her husband came back from war and she had two children so I'd say it was a happy ending. Eh.

The romance here might not be spot on because hello. I wrote this when I was 13. Actually, pretty much everything I've written here has been when I was 13. Go figure.

Let me know what you think. AGAIN.