Page 13 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

“Do you realize what you did?” Maria’s voice cuts through, dragging me out of the memory—of getting the call, of coming home to find everything in a mess.

No matter how much I tried to talk to my mom, she didn’t change her mind.

She said Maria wasn’t who she thought she was, that she’d never forgive her. I’ve barely spoken to my parents since.

Maria told me my parents were never coming near the kids again, and I supported that. But I didn’t support cutting Anna off. Not for making a mistake she didn’t even make.

“I lied,” I answer, voice low. “And I’m sorry.”

“No.” She shakes her head, wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“No, the lie was nothing compared to how alone you left me. God, Lyle—Anna actually offered to help. While I was drowning, while I desperately needed someone, she was there. And I turned her away because I blamed her for something she didn’t even do. ” Her voice cracks, ragged.

“Lyle, the struggles… I didn’t have to go through all that. The kids didn’t have to go through that. If I’d just let her help, if I hadn’t shut her out—”

Her voice fractures, her face folding in on itself.

“They missed so much. Birthdays. Christmas. They watched me work myself to the bone, they watched Rain nearly die, they watched me…” She swallows hard.

“…they watched me crack. And I let them. I let them because I thought I had no one. Because I thought the one person who offered was the enemy.”

My stomach twists. The guilt sits heavier than any rucksack I ever hauled through the desert. My voice is barely a whisper. “Maria, I did that. I put that weight on you. Not Anna. Not the Army. Me.”

Her eyes find mine, sharp through the blur of tears. “Damn right you did. You gave me silence and lies and secrets. You gave me the wrong villain so I could swing and swing at the wrong target while I was sinking.”

I scrub a hand down my face, shame stinging my skin. “I thought I was protecting you.” The words sound pitiful even as they leave my mouth. “God, Maria, I thought if I told you the truth—that it was Bethany—you’d break. That it would be worse.”

“Worse?” Her laugh is jagged, cracked glass. “You think this—” She gestures between us, the space poisoned with years of silence. “—isn’t worse?”

I can’t answer. My chest is too tight, every excuse I ever leaned on splintering into dust.

She shakes her head, lowering her face into her hands. Her voice is muffled but raw. “I needed you. More than I’ve ever needed anyone. And you gave me half a truth, half a marriage, half a partner. Do you know what it feels like to sleep next to someone and still be alone?”

The words hit harder than any bullet. My throat burns as I whisper, “Yeah. Because that’s how I’ve felt since.”

Her hands still. She looks up at me, eyes swollen, wet, disbelieving. And for the first time, I let it spill, the truth I’ve swallowed for years.

“Since Rain got sick. Since I kept deploying. Since you stopped looking at me like I was worth holding onto. I’ve been right here, Maria, in this house, in this bed, and still alone.”

Silence swallows us whole. Only the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, the echo of our kids’ laughter long gone to sleep, fills the air between us.

Finally, she exhales, shaky, almost a sob. “Then maybe we were both alone. And maybe that’s the real tragedy.”

I reach across the space, my hand hovering, not daring to touch. “Then let’s stop. Let’s stop being alone.”

She gets up, and whispers through her tears, “I don’t know how that’s possible anymore.”

And then she’s gone—slipping out of the office, leaving me with nothing but the echo of those words.

For a long time, I just sit there. Staring at the empty doorway. Trying to figure out how the hell to stitch something back together when the other half doesn’t believe it can be fixed.

The next two days are weird. Unsettling. Maria and I move around each other like ghosts in our own house. She talks to me when the kids are in earshot—civil, polite, the way strangers can be—but when we’re alone? Nothing. I might as well not exist.

I can’t even blame her. The abortion was our secret, our choice, and we swore we’d never tell anyone. And I went and told Bethany. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?

When I showed up at the hospital all those years ago and Maria told me what my mom had said, I didn’t fight it.

I let her believe it. Told her I’d slipped, that it was a mistake, which wasn’t a lie—just not the whole truth.

I left out the part where my mom probably said my daughter just to twist the knife, not to help me.

Now it’s 1 p.m., and I’m sitting outside Dr. Nina’s office. Maria isn’t here yet. When I reminded her this morning, she didn’t say anything. I can’t tell if she ignored me, or if she really didn’t hear. Maybe both.

So here I sit. Waiting. Wondering if she’ll actually show, or if I’ll be the idiot husband sitting alone in a therapist’s office, trying to explain a marriage that feels like it’s cracking under its own weight.

My prayers are answered at exactly 1:00. Two things happen at once: the door to Dr. Nina’s office opens, and the love of my life walks into the waiting room.

I can breathe again.

I stand, relief breaking across me like sunlight, and shake the hand Dr. Nina holds out. “Lyle Connelly.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. I gesture toward Maria, who lingers by the doorway. “This is my wife, Maria.”

Maria’s smile is small, polite, the kind you’d give a stranger on the street. She shakes Dr. Nina’s hand.

“Please, come in,” Nina says, gesturing us into the office.

We follow, Maria slipping into the far corner of the couch, me sitting awkwardly closer to the middle, like I’m bridging a distance she refuses to cross.

Nina watches us both with those calm therapist eyes, already cataloguing the space between us.

“So,” she says once we’re settled, “what brings you here today?”

I glance at Maria, waiting for her to speak. She doesn’t. Her gaze stays fixed on the edge of the table, like the wood grain’s more interesting than this conversation. The silence stretches until I clear my throat.

“We’re, uh…” My fingers knot together. “We’re having some problems. We had some before, and then—we chose to open our marriage. And it worked. For almost three years, it worked. But now…” My voice trails off. I can’t bring myself to finish.

Nina nods, jotting something down, her pen scratching slow and steady. Then she turns her gaze to Maria. “Maria? Would you like to add something here?”

Maria shifts, uncrosses her legs, then folds them again. Finally, she lifts her chin, voice flat but cutting. “I just have one problem. I no longer want to be a single parent.”

The words land like a slap. My mouth opens before I can stop it. “You are not a single parent—”

Nina raises a hand, her voice firm. “Lyle, you had your turn. This is Maria’s time.”

I sink back, jaw tight.

Maria exhales, her voice softer now, but edged with exhaustion.

“I… I knew this is what our marriage would be. I knew it going in. But what I didn’t know was that my husband would volunteer for every deployment possible.

That he’d leave as often as he could. That he’d do everything in his power to not be home. ”

Her throat works as she swallows. “At first, I tried to be patient. I told myself it was noble, that you were serving. I made excuses. And every time you came back fine—no injuries, no trauma I could see—I thought, okay. I can breathe. I can stop worrying.”

Her eyes shine now, cutting to me. “But then you got hurt. And Lyle, I can’t turn that part of my brain off anymore.

The part that says, ‘He’s probably dead.

’ Every time you leave. Every time the phone rings late at night, even when you’re sleeping next to me.

It never stops. And don’t tell me the kids don’t feel it too. ”

My head jerks. “What are you talking about?”

Maria lets out a sharp breath, incredulous. “Come on, Lyle. The way Remi and Taylor have been lately? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

I shift, uneasy. “I have noticed. They’re teenagers, Maria. Teenagers pull away.”

Her laugh is brittle, disbelieving. “Really? Or maybe they’ve just realized that you’re only home until the Army calls again. Until another opportunity comes up for you to leave us.”

The words hang between us like smoke.

I rake my hand through my hair. “I have to go. It’s my duty.”

Nina, calm but pointed, leans forward slightly. “Lyle—you say it’s your duty. But if I’m understanding correctly, these deployments… they’re voluntary?”

The room feels smaller. My shoulders sag. “Yeah,” I admit finally, voice low. “They are. But it’s what I joined the Army to do. To serve my country.”

Nina’s gaze stays steady on me, but it doesn’t feel like judgment. Just pressure. Pressure to stop dodging. “Then why keep volunteering, Lyle?” she asks quietly. “Why choose to leave, when you could stay?”

I open my mouth—close it again. The answer lodges in my throat, too heavy, too tangled.

Maria shakes her head, biting her lip like she already knows, like she’s heard this excuse before.

“It’s my job,” I say finally, the words sounding weak even to my own ears. “It’s what I signed up for.”

Nina doesn’t let up. “You’ve said that. But lots of captains don’t deploy nearly as often. This isn’t just about the Army. This is about you. So I’ll ask again—why do you keep going?”

My chest tightens, my hands balling into fists on my knees. I can feel Maria’s stare on me, burning, waiting. “Because…” I swallow hard. “Because that’s what Connelly men do.”

Nina tilts her head, waiting, inviting me to keep going.

“My father served,” I say, voice rough. “And his father before him. Connellys wear the uniform. We fight. We don’t stay home—we serve.

That’s our pride. That’s our bloodline. And I—” My voice cracks before I can stop it.

“I didn’t want to be the one who broke that. I didn’t want to be the weak one.”

The silence is brutal. Maria’s breath shudders out across the room, sharp, like my words have split her open in a new place.

Nina leans forward slightly, her voice steady but unrelenting. “So tell me, Lyle—do you expect your son to serve? Or your daughter?”

The question lands like a round to the chest. I blink at her, caught off guard. “No,” I answer instantly, shaking my head. “God, no.”

Her brows lift, calm but pointed. “Why not? They’re Connellys too, aren’t they?”

I freeze. The words echo in my head—my own words, just minutes ago. Connellys serve. Connellys fight. It’s our bloodline.

But now? Now the thought of Remi in uniform, of Taylor or Rain or even little August following me down this path—my stomach twists, with bile climbing up my throat.

I lower my gaze, my voice cracking as the truth scrapes out. “They’re… they’re my kids.”

For a second, no one breathes.

Then something warm presses against my arm. Maria’s hand, sliding across the space between us, her fingers interlocking with mine. It’s small, tentative—like testing if the bridge will hold.

I grip back, almost desperate. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to say I feel it. I hear you. I’m here.

Maria doesn’t look at me. Her gaze stays fixed forward, wet and burning. But she doesn’t pull away either.

Dr. Nina leans back slightly, her eyes flicking to the faint scar running along my jaw. “You said you got hurt,” she says quietly. “Was that recent?”

I shrug. “A year ago.”

“And did you see a therapist afterward?”

I nod, not sure where she’s going with this.

“Together?” she presses.

I shake my head.

Her gaze shifts to Maria. “So you didn’t see anyone.”

I answer for her before Maria can roll her eyes. “Maria believes in toughing it out.”

Maria scoffs. “Why would I need to see a therapist?”

“Well,” Dr. Nina says evenly, “what was your reaction when you found out your husband had been hurt?”

Maria’s jaw tightens. She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping.

“I didn’t find out. Not from the army. Another wife from his unit hadn’t heard from her husband on their daughter’s birthday, so she asked around.

None of us had heard. So, as the captain’s wife, I made the call to command—and that’s how I found out they’d been MIA longer than anyone bothered to tell us. ”

She takes a sharp breath, eyes glinting. “We were all worried, but they wouldn’t give us answers. So we went to D.C. and practically camped out until someone finally told us.”

Maria’s voice trails off. She stares at the table, lips pressed white.

Dr. Nina leans forward gently. “What did you find out?”

Maria doesn’t answer. Her silence is heavy.

I squeeze her hand until she looks at me. My voice is soft, steady. “She found out I was alive. Me and one other soldier. The rest… didn’t make it.”

Maria’s head jerks. Her voice is tight, clipped. “Actually, we found out two soldiers were alive. I didn’t know if it was you.”

The words slice me open. I turn toward her, chest tight. “What?”

She nods, blinking fast. “They wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell us. So we had to wait, and…” Her voice cracks.

Dr. Nina leans in gently. “And?”

Maria yanks her hand from mine, swiping at her tears with the heel of her palm. “It was horrible, okay? Those women weren’t strangers—they were my friends. And I was sitting there practically praying for their husbands to be dead instead of mine.”

My chest lurches. “That’s not true.”

She pushes up from the couch, pacing a few steps like the air around me is suffocating her. “You weren’t there, Lyle. You don’t get it. It was like… like there were only two cures in the world and I had to fight for one to get for our family.”

Her shoulders tremble. She sniffles, her back still to me. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Nina’s eyes soften. She nods once, setting her pen to the pad again. “Alright. We don’t have to push things. Why don’t we take a step back?”

Maria drags in a shaky breath, arms folded tight across her chest as she slowly returns to the couch, though she doesn’t look at me.

Nina tilts her head, her voice calm but curious. “Tell me about the two of you. How did you meet?”