A/N: This is the product of boredom after my French test today. I just started writing and after I was about half way through I realized what I was writing about. Hope you like it.

One shot, unless you all want me to continue and give me feedback for what you want to happen.

Even as I packed my bags, I wondered 'What if things were different? What if he'd shown up? What if…?'

I tried to turn my thought to the task at hand. No sense dwelling on what cannot and never will happen. 'No sense.' I shook my head – there was no sense in a lot of things when love is involved.

Love. A curse and a blessing all at the same time, it's because of him that I know what love is – and because of love that I can't forget him. Forgive him? Maybe someday. Forget him? Never. He showed me a world I had only dreamed of. And now, thanks to him and his love I'll never be satisfied with anything less - anything that's not him.

I'll never be satisfied, but I can learn to be content. That was one thing he never understood about me: I'd always been willing to sacrifice my happiness for his.

But not anymore. No, now that I knew what his true motivation was in this relationship and that to him I was a commodity – I can never go back to what we had. What we were was based on a crumbling foundation. I came second in his life – work came first.

By this time I was finished packing, and I began to carry my things down the stairs from our bedroom out to my car. The only solace I had was in the fact that he was trying to come up with proof for his new theory and wouldn't be home for hours. That's why I was leaving in the first place. I can handle him loving his job and what he does, but there comes a point when ignoring someone taking you for granted, just becomes too much.

He was my best friend, my boyfriend, and my lover. He completed my soul in a way I'd never felt before. But love is not enough. It never has been and it never will be. Love is not enough. That was the whole problem with our relationship – it was one sided.

Oh, the fact that he loved me was never doubted, but he was just so wrapped up in his work that he never had any time for me.

We may both be archeologists – but I still need to be treated like a woman. I still need to be cared for and loved and respected.

Working through our anniversary was the last straw. Days like that should be embedded into one's memory, like dates into the annuls of history. He should have more respect for me than that. He should have a greater need to be with me so that he's able to restrict how much time he spends working.

I got into the car; tears began to form in my eyes. I was leaving the first place that had felt like home since I left home. I was leaving the first man I had ever truly loved. I was leaving my heart. But that didn't matter now – I may never recover from the heartache entirely, but I can move on. I could still have a life with a man who would remember that he had a girlfriend or a wife back at home, waiting for him to finish with his work. I thought that he could, too. We both deserved better.

That's what brought me to where I was. Dressed in the same black dress I had purchased for our two-year anniversary, driving over from my old house to dump my boyfriend – Dr. Daniel Jackson.