Chapter 6 - The Man Behind the Uniform
I didn't cry quietly.
I tried.
Years of practice should have made that possible.
It didn't.
My shoulders shook.
My chest hurt.
I hated every second of it.
Then I felt Sophie's hand on the back of my neck.
That nearly destroyed me.
“Ethan.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You don't.”
My voice sounded broken.
“I thought staying strong was helping you.”
She listened.
“I thought if I didn't talk about the babies, you wouldn't have to think about them.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought if I worked harder, you'd have space.”
A tear ran down my face.
“I thought divorce was me stopping the damage.”
Sophie stared at me.
“I was wrong about every single thing.”
She said nothing.
“I was scared too.”
Her expression changed.
I had never admitted that.
Not once.
“I was terrified every time you went into the bathroom.”
I wiped my face.
“I hated the nursery.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Not because I hated what it represented.”
I shook my head.
“Because every time I walked past that room, I could see the crib that was never there.”
Sophie covered her mouth.
“I thought about teaching them to ride bikes.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Isn't that stupid?”
“No.”
“I thought about Christmas.”
“Me too.”
“I thought about whether they'd have your eyes.”
Her tears came faster.
“I thought about all of it.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
Because the answer was ugly.
“Because soldiers came to me when they were afraid.”
I looked down.
“And I didn't know how to be the man who was afraid himself.”
Sophie leaned back against the pillow.
“You weren't my commanding officer.”
“I know.”
“I never needed you to fix it.”
“I know that now.”
“I needed you to sit next to me and admit it hurt.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
We were silent for a long time.
Then Sophie whispered, “I hated you.”
I accepted it.
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I hated you because I still loved you.”
My breath stopped.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Maybe she hadn't meant to say it.
Maybe exhaustion had pulled the truth out before she could stop it.
Neither of us moved.
Then she turned away.
“You should sleep.”
I almost asked what she meant.
Instead, I stayed in the chair.
Because there are moments when asking for more is another form of selfishness.
At two in the morning, Sophie fell asleep.
At three, I called my commanding general.
At six, I arranged emergency leave.
At seven, I returned to her room with coffee for myself and tea for her.
She looked at the cup.
“You remembered.”
“Peppermint.”
“No honey.”
“One sugar.”
She stared at me.
Five years of marriage had not disappeared.
We had.
May you like
There was a difference.
And for the first time, I wondered whether lost people could find each other again.
