Chapter 3

Deep in the night, thunder jolted me awake.

That's what nights in the field were like.

Except it wasn't thunder—it was artillery. And it wasn't lightning—it was fire.

The air always reeked of char. People fled through the darkness, screams clawing up from the earth.

You think you've left it behind, that the horrors are in the past.

But your brain won't let you go.

I sat up and turned on the lamp.

My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. I couldn't breathe. An invisible band was cinched tight around my chest. My ears filled with a high-pitched whine.

"Nathan..." My voice came out weak. "Nathan, are you there?"

No answer.

I threw off the covers and got out of bed, bracing myself against the wall, palms slick with cold sweat.

My whole body was shaking—teeth chattering, bones rattling.

Fear crawled out of my marrow.

Nathan wasn't home.

Lightning split the sky, the room flaring white before plunging back into darkness.

I lost all control.

I crouched down, wrapped my arms around myself, dug my nails into my shoulders, trying to anchor myself.

If this kept up, I was going to pass out.

Or worse.

A soldier in the field once told me: when you can't tell past from present, you're already on the edge.

I fumbled for my phone, fingers trembling, and managed to dial Dr. Leah.

"Evelyn?" Leah's voice sharpened with alertness. She knew my panic attacks. "Listen to me. Find one thing in front of you. Tell me what color it is."

I looked up, gaze darting wildly until it landed on the glass vase on the dining table.

White roses. Wilting a little.

"White," I forced out through clenched teeth. "A vase."

"Good. Now tell me what the floor feels like under your feet." Her voice was patient, guiding me through.

"Cold... hard." Tears spilled over. "I can't breathe."

"Breathe with me," she said. "You're not on a battlefield. You're in your apartment in New York. It's the middle of the night. You're safe."

Safe.

I followed her rhythm. Once. Twice. Three times. The tremors began to fade.

Leah asked, "You need someone with you. Where's Nathan?"

I was silent for a moment.

"He's not here," I said.

"Evelyn, listen to me." Her voice softened. "It's not that you can't handle this alone. You can. But you shouldn't always have to. Especially when you need someone most."

I said nothing.

Once Leah was sure I'd stabilized, she hung up.

I started calling Nathan.

Once.

Twice.

On the third try, he finally picked up.

"What is it?" His voice was hushed, like he was afraid of waking someone.

"Where are you?" I asked.

A long silence.

"She has a fever," he said. "I'm taking care of her."

I knew exactly who "she" was.

No one else would make Nathan leave the house in the middle of the night.

No one but Selena.

"I had a panic attack," I said through gritted teeth. "A bad one. You know I—"

I nearly blacked out.

"I know." He cut me off, impatience bleeding through. "But she needs me more right now."

More.

I almost asked: And what about me? But I didn't.

I didn't want to hear an answer I already knew.

"Come home," I said.

Nathan's voice softened slightly. "You've already calmed down, haven't you? You have your doctor. You've always been strong, Evelyn. You can handle this."

I nearly laughed out loud.

"I'm strong," I repeated. "So you get to leave?"

He sighed quietly. "Don't make a scene. I'll be back tomorrow."

Just before he hung up, I heard a woman's soft cough in the background.

I didn't want to guess anymore.

I opened Twitter.

Selena's livestream notification glowed an aggressive red: LIVE.

Viewers: 10,413.

I tapped in.

On screen, she lay in bed, looking pale.

Her voice was faint: "I'm okay... don't worry. Just a little tired."

The comments flooded in:

"Hugs!!"

"He treats you so well!"

"God, this is what it looks like to be cherished."

She tilted her head and smiled, eyes glistening. "Thank you, everyone. Someone's taking care of me."

The camera shifted slightly, and at the edge of the frame, a hand appeared.

It held a spoon, scooping up oatmeal porridge, lifting it to her lips.

On the ring finger, a faint tan line where a wedding band used to sit.

Those hands had rested on my back countless times. They'd unbuckled my body armor when I came home from the field. They'd held me tight through trembling nights, whispering "It's over now."

Now they were feeding porridge to someone else.

Selena parted her lips around the spoon and looked up at the camera. "Don't worry. He'll stay with me."

The comments exploded:

"AHHH WHO IS HE?!"

"They're perfect together!"

"She deserves all the good things!"

I didn't cry.

Tears had lost their currency long ago.

I walked back to the bedroom and called my lawyer.

The line connected.

"Grant."

I spoke. "I want a divorce. Now. Immediately. Have the papers delivered to him first thing tomorrow. Fast as possible."

Grant didn't ask questions. He just confirmed: "You're sure about this?"

I stared at the two empty pillows on the bed, and suddenly every compromise I'd made over the years felt like a farce played out in silence.

"Completely sure," I said.

I hung up and walked to the mirror.

My face was pale, but my eyes were startlingly bright.

Thunder still rumbled across the sky.

But I wasn't afraid anymore.