Page 21 of Open Secrets
She looks at me, and suddenly I can’t stop seeing how tired she is. The dark circles under her eyes. The way her shoulders slope, like she’s been carrying the weight of this house, these kids, this marriage all by herself.
“Can we not right now?” she says quietly. “I have to get to work.”
I push back from the table, standing before I can think better of it. “It’s not—look, I was thinking. You’re right. Something needs to change. And I was thinking… we should see a counsellor.”
Her head snaps up, sceptical. “Like a marriage counsellor?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I mean, Quinn sent me this doctor’s recommendation.”
Maria’s brow furrows. “You asked Quinn? Markus’ ex?”
I shift, rubbing the back of my neck. “She’s a therapist. Figured she’d know the best one.”
For a second, Maria just stares at me, unreadable. Then she straightens her shoulders, all steel. “Fine. I’ll see her. But, Lyle—” Her voice drops, firm enough to cut. “I’m not changing my mind.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t even know what to say. By the time I think of anything, she’s already turning, heading upstairs to get dressed. Probably for work. Probably to escape.
The silence that follows presses in thick. I gather up plates, stack cups, rinse out the sink. My hands move on instinct, cleaning up the mess while the bigger one—us—just sits there, waiting.
I tell myself I should probably get ready too. I don’t have to — today’s technically my day off. But sitting still makes me restless. Makes me think. And thinking never helps. Might as well keep moving.
Maria’s upstairs getting dressed for the clinic. She gets to work in one place, punch a clock, come home. Clean lines. Clear endings. Dentistry is her world, and she’s damn good at it. I’m proud of her for that, but it’s not my world. Not even close.
People think it’s simple for me. Either I’m deployed in some combat zone, or I’m home with my feet up. But that’s not how it works.
When I’m not overseas, I’m still working. I don’t get to sit around. I’m a captain. I’ve got over a hundred soldiers depending on me every day. The Army doesn’t hand out free time just because you’re not deployed.
Half my life is downrange, half of it is here at home. But being home doesn’t mean the job is done. It never quits. Not for me.
I press my palms against the counter, and drop my head. That’s what she never seems to understand. To her, my absence looks like a choice. To me, it’s duty.
And if she’s asking me to choose between the two… I don’t even know what the right answer is.
I leave after Maria does, letting her car pull out first before I follow. The road feels too quiet, my head too loud. I grip the wheel, thumb tapping against the leather, and finally make the call.
Dr. Nina’s office. The receptionist sounds chipper, detached, like she’s already said these words a thousand times today.
“I’m sorry, the first opening we have is Thursday.”
Thursday. Two days from now. It might as well be four years.
I clear my throat. “What about emergency slots?”
There’s a pause, then her voice drops into the careful tone people use when they know they’re about to disappoint you. “We do have one tomorrow morning, but the cost is significantly higher.”
Way above my pay grade. I know before she even says the number. I clench my jaw, force the words out anyway. “We’ll take Thursday.”
She thanks me, offers to send the details, and just like that the line goes dead.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and keep driving, the hum of the engine filling the silence.
By the time I pull through the gates of Fort Cavazos, it’s like flipping a switch. The second I step out of the car, posture straightens automatically, shoulders squaring like the weight of the uniform pulls me taller. Home strips me down; here, I’m built back up.
A private spots me crossing the lot and nearly trips over his own boots trying to salute. Nervous, stiff. I nod back, steady and sure, because that’s what he expects. What they all expect.
Inside the company office, two sergeants are waiting, folders already stacked high. Problems lined up in neat rows, waiting for me to solve.
“Morning, Captain.”
