Page 16 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Lyle — Present

The next morning feels almost… eerie. I’m up early, moving through the kitchen, lining up lunchboxes and frying eggs, pouring cereal for the ones who’ll only eat that. The kids sense it—hell, they’d have to be blind not to. The air’s thick, heavier than usual, and none of them make a fuss.

Rain doesn’t cry when I mess up her hair, even though she usually does.

August eats his toast without a single complaint about crusts.

And Remi and Taylor—God help me—actually work together to clear the table instead of sniping at each other.

They’re quiet, efficient, like they’re all part of some unspoken pact: don’t poke at the tension between Mom and Dad.

By the time the bus pulls away, the house feels still. The kind of stillness before a storm.

I’m wiping down the counter when Maria finally makes her way downstairs. She’s dragging her feet, hair messy, moving straight to the table like gravity itself doubled overnight. She drops into a chair and rubs her temple, muttering, “How come my head doesn’t hurt?”

I can’t help the small smile. “Probably the water I made you drink before bed.”

Her brows knit, like she’s trying to place it. She nods once. “Thought I imagined that.”

“You didn’t.” I set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, then sit across from her. My voice comes out steady, firm. “You didn’t imagine promising to tell me everything either.”

Maria freezes mid-sip, mug hovering just shy of her lips. The face she makes is damn near identical to the one Remi made earlier when I asked him to help with Rain’s hair—caught, cornered, guilty.

“Do I have to?” she mutters, almost childlike.

“Yes.” My answer leaves no room for argument. I lean forward, clasping my hands together on the table. “I already called Debra. She’s bringing in a fill-in, so you can stay home. And I took the day off too.”

Her eyes lift to mine, wary, guarded.

“We’re doing this,” I tell her.

She finishes her cup in silence, not rushing, not looking at me. By the time it’s empty, her shoulders drop like she’s finally settled on something. “What do you want to know?”

I lean forward, heart in my throat. “What happened after I left. That day at the hospital—things were fine, we had a plan, and then…” My voice falters. “What happened, Maria?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze flicks toward the window, like maybe she’ll find a way out there. Then, slowly, she turns back to me, her face pale and tired.

“Remember how the doctor said AML wasn’t that common in children, so the treatment might be harsher for her? Well, he wasn’t kidding. After you left, it was like…” She swallows hard. “…like the treatment was attacking her instead of the cancer.”

Her voice lowers, breaking in places.

“She wouldn’t eat or drink for days because it hurt too much—her mouth was covered in sores.

Her hair started coming out in clumps on her pillow.

She couldn’t stop vomiting, couldn’t even keep water down.

I took her to the ER twice just to get a drip in her because she was wasting away in front of me.

She’d cry, but she was too weak to even make noise sometimes.

Just tears rolling down her face while I begged her to sip Pedialyte or broth.

And when she finally slept, it was only because they knocked her out with meds.

That was her life. And mine. For months. ”

Maria’s hands knot together, knuckles white. “I thought it was supposed to save her, Lyle. But every day I watched her fade. I think the doctor got tired of it, and God knows I did too, because finally—”

Her voice shifts, flat and haunted, like the memory is taking her back against her will.

Maria — Austin, 2021

“But you said chemo was her best shot,” I told Dr. Strand, my voice shaking, loud for the sterile little consultation room.

He didn’t flinch. He just looked at me calmly, like he had been trained for this—for mothers unravelling across a desk. Maybe I was one. Anyone would be, if they had to watch the thing meant to save their child kill her instead.

“I’ve reviewed Rain’s latest scans,” he said carefully, every syllable controlled. “And I think it’s time to stop the chemotherapy.”

For a moment, I just stared at him. The words didn’t land. Didn’t compute. “Stop? What do you mean, stop?”

His eyes softened, but his voice stayed maddeningly steady. “The chemo isn’t working the way we hoped. It’s breaking her body down faster than it’s fighting the leukaemia. At this point, continuing would do more harm than good.”

My chest caved, lungs collapsing, air gone. “So what—you’re telling me that’s it? That we just—what, take her home and wait for her to die?”

“There is another option,” he said, folding his hands on the table like it would make the next words easier. “It’s risky. But given Rain’s condition… it might be her only chance.”

Every nerve in me screamed. My voice cracked. “What option?”

“Gene therapy,” he said. “It’s still in the trial phase, which means it’s considered experimental and not covered under your insurance. But the early data—especially in paediatric cases—has been promising.”

Experimental. Risky. Expensive. The words smeared together, but I clung to the only one that mattered.

“Then we’ll do it,” I said. “Whatever it takes—we’ll do it.”

Lyle — Present

“And I really believed that,” Maria says, wiping her tears with the edge of her sleeve.

Her voice trembles, ragged, but she forces herself to keep talking.

“When I went to the Patient Advocate at the base hospital. They were kind, but… powerless. They filed the request, yes, but told me straight—Tricare would take months to answer.”

She shakes her head, jaw clenched. “Months Rain didn’t have.”

I shift forward in my chair, heart pounding, every muscle in me tight. “Maria, why didn’t you—”

She barrels past my words, louder now, desperate. “So, I went to your dad.”

My mouth goes dry. “You—what?”

“I went to your dad,” she repeats, her voice breaking on the word. “And his friends. All those men you grew up saluting. They weren’t the traditional path, but I thought—they’re generals, Lyle. They had power. They could’ve pulled strings. Opened doors. Something.”

I can see it, too clearly—Maria in some cold, wood-panelled room, surrounded by men in uniform. Her small frame against their medals and stars. My stomach lurches.

Her eyes close, her breath coming uneven. “I fell to my knees in front of them.”

The image guts me.

“I begged,” she whispers. “Begged them to save my daughter. Our daughter. And they just… stared at me. Like I was pathetic.” Her voice cracks, and she covers her mouth with her hand, fighting for control. “Your dad told me to stop embarrassing myself.”

It’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. My chest caves, sharp and hot. “Jesus Christ,” I breathe, gripping my knees like I need the anchor.

Maria’s tears spill freely now. “So I left. And that day—same damn day—I called Dr. Strand. Told him to get Rain into the trial, and I’d find a way to pay.” She looks at me then, eyes hollow. “And I did.”

My throat burns. “Maria—”

“I maxed the credit cards. Took out loans. Risked the business. Took every private consult I could. Worked nights. Worked weekends. Anything. And when the letter finally came—when the Army advocate called just to say the appeal had been denied—I already knew.” Her laugh is bitter, broken.

“I’d stopped waiting for them. I stopped waiting for you . ”

The words slam into me harder than any blow I’ve ever taken.

I shake my head, fighting against it, against the truth clawing at me. “You should’ve told me.” My voice cracks under the weight of it. “Christ, Maria, I was calling every night. I would’ve—”

Her eyes snap up, wet and furious, a storm breaking loose.

“What would you have done, Lyle? Could you have done?” Her voice shakes, but it doesn’t waver.

“You were trapped. If you’d walked away, we would’ve lost the house.

The roof over our heads. And if you stayed, knowing everything that was going on here…

” Her throat works, struggling past the words.

“I couldn’t put that on you. Couldn’t carry you too.

So, I lied. Every time I talked to you, I pretended we were fine.

Pretended the cost wasn’t that high. Pretended I wasn’t failing. ”

“Stop.” My voice comes out rough, desperate. “You weren’t failing anyone.”

“Yes, I was!” The words rip out of her, sharp and jagged.

She shoves her hair back from her face, her hand trembling as it falls into her lap.

“I was working three jobs and I still couldn’t afford her treatment.

Not really. And the kids—God, they suffered the most. Then COVID hit, and I…

” Her voice breaks. She shakes her head, whispering like a confession, “Do you realize if that social worker had ever come back for a follow-up, she would’ve seen me sleeping in a tent in the backyard while our oldest raised his little brother and sister? ”

My chest caves. “Jesus, Maria…”

She squeezes her eyes shut, tears slipping free.

“I couldn’t risk bringing the illness home.

I couldn’t risk her catching anything. So I stayed outside, freezing, and I let Remi and Taylor do what I couldn’t.

And you—” Her gaze cuts to me, sharp even through the blur of tears.

“You were trapped longer because of it. Deployment after deployment. Just one thing after another. It never stopped.”

Her shoulders slump. The fight drains, but the words still land like stones. “And all through that, I was alone. Because of you.”

My mouth drops. The air leaves my chest. “If you had just told me—”

“I’m not talking about that ,” she cuts in, voice gritted, sharp enough to slice. Her eyes blaze at me, wet and furious. “I’m talking about Bethany.”

My stomach lurches. “Maria—”

“You told her,” she spits, every syllable heavy. “You told her our secret. And then you lied about it.”

“I—” My throat closes. I want to explain, to backpedal, but the words dry up.

She doesn’t give me the chance. “I was pissed when I thought it was Anna,” she goes on, her tone trembling, raw.

“Because she’s a woman. Always preaching about women looking after women.

And I felt… so goddamn betrayed that when she offered to move in during lockdown, when she offered for me to stay at her place, I said no.

Because I didn’t need her to stab me in the back one more time. ”

Her voice cracks, but she pushes through it, her head tilting, eyes blazing with something between rage and heartbreak.

“And that—that is what miffs me. Not only did you take our parents away from us, not only did you make me beg strangers for help, but you made me push the one person who did offer help away. Because you wanted to protect your lie!”

Her words leave me gutted, stripped raw. I open my mouth, desperate to say something—anything—but nothing comes. No excuse, no defence, not even an apology that would mean a damn thing.

Maria lets out a long, tired sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s been waiting years to escape. Then she pushes back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor like a final verdict.

She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say another word. Just turns and walks upstairs, each step slow, deliberate, the sound of her retreat echoing through the house.

I sit there in the silence she leaves behind, staring at her empty glass across the table, wondering when exactly my wife stopped being my partner—and when I became the enemy.