Page 6 of Open Secrets (Infidelity #5)

Maria – Present

I laugh, shaking my head. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

I expect him to laugh with me, to meet me in the absurdity of it, but he doesn’t. His mouth pulls tight instead. “Yeah.” He shrugs once, firm. “What happened that day… it just solidified the fact that I’d marry you someday.”

The words catch me off guard, soften something inside me. I smile, small, wistful. “Did you think we’d be here like this though?”

He shakes his head. “I thought you wanted this. Needed it.”

I look away, blinking hard as the sting builds. My head tilts, hair falling forward, a shield for my face. “I made a mistake with Sascha. It never should’ve happened, and in my regret I…” My voice trails, breaking. I drag my sleeve across my cheek, wiping the tear before it falls.

“Hey.” His voice pulls me back, low and steady, like a tether I don’t know if I want to grab.

I glance at him, bracing, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes.

He doesn’t flinch. “I forgave you. For him.” His hand shifts closer, wrapping around mine. “Doesn’t change the fact that—” He cuts himself off.

“I cheated,” I finish for him, the word burning in my mouth.

His grip tightens, then falters. “You didn’t cheat,” he says, but the conviction is gone.

“Almost did,” I admit, voice cracking. “I told myself it came out of nowhere but truth is—"

He rips his hand from mine like I burned him, standing fast. “Can we not talk about this?”

I rise too, anger flaring. “You always do this. You’re not even willing to listen to why I—”

“Why you fell in love with another man?” His voice slices through me, sharp and jagged.

I draw a breath, steadying, tears blurring the edges of the room. “I didn’t fall in love. He was there for me.”

“Oh, he was there,” Lyle scoffs, venom in every syllable. “There for you while I was out fighting for our country.”

I scoff back, the sound bitter, broken. “Some good that did.”

His head jerks, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shake my head, “Forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

I laugh, hollow, furious. “You weren’t there when I begged the fucking Army to save our child. And they said no.”

His face hardens, voice dripping bitterness. “They told you experimental treatment wasn’t covered.”

“God, you’re still defending them?” My voice shatters into a scream, all the years spilling out. “Our child had leukaemia, Lyle. The only thing that saved her was the gene therapy. And I paid for it. Not the Army. Not you. Me.”

He flinches like I slapped him, but the anger flares back just as fast. “I was trying to keep a roof over our heads! Trying to keep my rank, keep my benefits, so that maybe—maybe—we could survive more than a month at a time. You think it was easy for me? Watching from a thousand miles away while my daughter fought for her life?”

“You didn’t watch,” I spit, the words sharp as glass. “You missed birthdays, chemo sessions, the nights she cried herself to sleep. I held her. I carried her. I watched her throw up until her little body shook. And you sent postcards and pay checks like that was the same thing.”

He shakes his head, voice breaking around the edges. “You think I don’t hate myself for not being there? You think I didn’t lose sleep thinking my daughter might—” He cuts himself off, fists clenching at his sides.

My chest twists, but the fury burns hotter. “This isn’t about your guilt. This is about you choosing the Army over us. Over me. Over her.”

“I didn’t choose!” he roars. “It was the only damn path I had! You think I wanted this life? You think I wanted to miss my children’s births, their milestones—” His voice cracks, his breath stuttering.

“I wanted to be there. I wanted it more than anything. But I had orders. And you knew what that meant when you married me.”

I stare at him, breathing hard, tears streaking hot down my face.

“What I knew was that we’d be a family. What I didn’t know was that I’d have to be both parents.

That I’d have to fight the hospital, fight the insurance, fight death itself—while you were halfway across the world pretending the Army gave a damn about us. About you.”

His eyes flash, raw and wounded. “What?”

“Come on, Lyle,” I choke out, voice splintering. “They don’t give a fuck. Your daughter was in the hospital and they told you to report for duty or be court-martialled. Our daughter needed a miracle, and someone, somewhere decided no—too risky, too experimental. And you still defend them.”

He opens his mouth, shuts it, his shoulders tight like he’s bracing for impact.

I don’t stop. I can’t. “Even now, you say you miss your team, your brothers, your friends—but what about mine? Did you know the wives, the girlfriends, the families of your teammates still don’t have answers? They can’t move on when they don’t even know when or how their husbands died.”

His chest heaves, hands curling into fists, but I keep going, my voice ripping out of me.

“Jesus, Lyle—Lorraine can’t even look at her daughter without wondering if her husband died on her birthday.

Kim never even got a body to bury. And every time they ask for answers, they’re told no. Classified. Confidential.”

My throat burns, but the words won’t stop. “The Army doesn’t give a damn. Not about them. Not about us. Not about you.”

Lyle staggers back a step, like I’ve knocked the wind out of him. His jaw works, his eyes dark, searching mine for something to hold on to—but there’s nothing left but the truth between us.

“Why didn’t you say any of this before?” he asks, voice raw.

“Because I thought I could do it,” I whisper, running a hand over my face. “Suppress it. The fear, the resentment. Pretend I was fine. But your last deployment? I don’t think I slept a single night without nightmares. Wondering if you were dead, and I had no clue.”

He throws his hands in the air, pacing. “I get it—there are bad parts, there always are. But you’re just focusing on that. They paid for this house, Maria. They paid for our kids’ education. You think we’d have any of this without them?”

“Yes, they did,” I say, nodding, tears still streaking my face. “And before Rain got sick, I thought we were lucky. Blessed, even. That you served in the United States Army. I told myself it was worth it. That all the nights alone, all the missed milestones, were worth something.”

My voice cracks, sharp with fury. “But now? Now that I’ve seen the complete disregard for our lives—for her life—I can’t unsee it. I can’t.”

His chest rises, falls, the fight bleeding into his eyes. “What are you saying?”

I steady myself, my whole-body trembling. “I’m saying I can’t do this anymore.”

The words hang between us, heavy. Neither of us moves. The only sound is our breathing, ragged and uneven, filling the room like smoke.

Then—soft, small—“Mommy?”

I spin toward the doorway. August stands there in his pyjama pants, hair sticking up, clutching his stuffed dinosaur. His voice is groggy but firm. “You’re being loud.”

My heart cracks. “Oh, baby.” I rush over, crouching down to scoop him up, pressing my cheek against his warm hair. “I’m so sorry. Mommy didn’t mean to wake you.”

I carry August back to his room, his small arms looped around my neck, his stuffed dinosaur dragging against the wall as we pass.

In the dim yellow glow of the nightlight, I lower him into bed and pull the blanket up over his chest. He blinks up at me, wide-eyed, too awake now to slip right back into sleep.

“Are you mad at Daddy?” he asks, voice uncertain.

My chest caves. I force a smile that feels brittle. “No, baby. Mommy and Daddy were just… talking too loud.”

“You were yelling.”

I tuck the blanket tighter around him, fingers lingering at his shoulder. “Sometimes when grown-ups get upset, they talk louder than they mean to. But it doesn’t mean the same thing as when you and your brother fight.”

He studies me, quiet, then whispers, “Did I do something wrong?”

The question guts me. “Oh, no, sweetie. Never. This isn’t about you. Not at all.”

His brow furrows, small voice carrying more weight than it should. “Then why are you crying?”

I blink fast, brush his hair off his forehead, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Because sometimes grown-ups cry too, even when they don’t mean to. It’s just… part of life.”

He hugs his dinosaur tight. After a pause: “Is Daddy gonna leave? Like Sanjay’s dad?”

The air leaves me. “Oh, honey.” My throat burns. I slide under the blanket beside him, curling around his small body. He fits against me like he always has, warm and fragile, like something I can still protect. “No. Daddy’s not leaving you.”

“But Sanjay’s daddy left,” he says, muffled into the pillow. “And his mommy cries all the time. She cried in the car when she picked him up from school. And Sanjay said they had to move, ’cause the house wasn’t theirs anymore.”

I press my face into his hair, blinking hard. “Daddy’s not leaving like that,” I whisper, voice shaking. “He’s right here. We both are. You’re safe.”

“Promise?”

I nod against him, the word burning on my tongue. “Promise.”

His body relaxes by degrees, his breathing evening out as sleep pulls him under. His hand stays curled in the fabric of my shirt, like even in dreams he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

I lie there long after his eyes close, staring into the dark, the weight of my own words pressing down like stone.

I promised him Daddy wasn’t leaving. But promises don’t mean much in a world where men are uniforms before they’re human.

And I don’t know how much longer I can live with that.