Page 4 of The Big Race

Million-Dollar Gamble

T hat evening, showered and pleasantly exhausted, we settled onto the couch together to watch the latest episode of The Big Race . Watching the show, which sent teams around the world, racing for a million dollars, was one of the few things we still did together.

The season finale was down to its final thirty minutes, and only three teams remained: the former college roommates, the newlyweds, and the divorced couple who’d remained friends.

“The roommates have this locked up,” Ray argued, settling deeper into his side of the couch. “They’ve won three legs already.”

“Yeah, but look at them.” I pointed with a popcorn kernel as the camera zoomed in on the two men arguing over how to assemble a traditional Vietnamese fishing trap.

“Dusty is completely ignoring Coulter’s suggestions.

They’ve been doing that all season—whoever thinks they’re right steamrolls over the other. ”

Ray tilted his head, considering. “Fair point. What do you think about the newlyweds?”

“They’re going to lose,” I said, reaching for the bowl of popcorn without taking my eyes off the screen. “Look at how they’re arguing about the best way to assemble the reed boat.”

Ray nodded, his shoulder warm against mine. “No communication. She’s not listening, and he’s not explaining clearly.” He took a handful of popcorn. “Kind of like us on that hike in Colorado. Remember?”

I did remember—Ray forging ahead on the trail while I struggled behind, too proud to admit I was suffering from altitude sickness, him too focused on the summit to notice my distress until it was almost too late.

“We’ve gotten better since then,” I said. “At least a little.”

“Today felt good,” Ray said quietly. “Being on the water together. Finding our way through the mangroves.”

“It did,” I agreed. On screen, the newlyweds were falling further behind, their boat coming apart as they tried to paddle across a high mountain lake. “Maybe we’re not as hopeless as they are.”

“Which leaves the divorced couple,” Ray said.

“They’ve got nothing to prove to each other. No ego on the line.”

“Plus they’ve been doing the ‘slow and steady’ strategy all season,” Ray added. “Never first, rarely last, just consistently in the middle of the pack.”

“Classic tortoise and hare situation,” I agreed.

This felt good—familiar. We managed to set aside the tension that had permeated our home since the discovery of Ray’s affair.

No careful navigation around sensitive topics, no awkward silences.

Just the two of us, doing what we’d done for years: analyzing reality show contestants like it was an Olympic sport.

Dr. Lieber would probably call this progress—finding a way back to something we’d shared before the fractures in our marriage had become chasms. Of course, watching other people challenge themselves wasn’t quite the same as taking her advice to do an activity together, but it was something.

Ray’s arm slipped around my shoulders, the gesture tentative at first, then more confident when I didn’t pull away.

As we watched the teams race toward the episode’s conclusion, I was more invested than usual in their struggles and triumphs.

Each challenge they faced seemed to mirror some aspect of what Ray and I were working through—communication breakdowns, trust issues, the balance between leading and following.

“You guys are way too into this show,” Leo said, wandering into the living room with a plate of leftovers from dinner.

At twenty-two, our son had shot up to six-foot-two, a perfect blend of his birth father’s height and his birth mother’s lean build.

He’d come home from Florida State for the weekend, ostensibly to do laundry, though I suspected he also wanted to raid our well-stocked refrigerator.

“It’s quality entertainment,” I defended. “Not like those prank videos you’re always watching.”

“At least my shows don’t make people eat bugs,” Leo countered, dropping into the armchair.

“That was only one season,” Ray and I said in unison, then exchanged surprised looks that melted into reluctant smiles.

Leo rolled his eyes, but I caught the pleased look that flashed across his face.

He’d been oddly attentive all weekend, watching Ray and me with careful eyes.

Had he sensed the tension between us? We’d agreed not to tell him about the affair or the counseling until we knew whether we were staying together or separating, but Leo had always been perceptive.

On screen, the divorced couple completed their fishing trap first and raced toward the next challenge.

“Told you,” I said, nudging Ray with my elbow.

“They’re not at the finish line yet,” he replied, but I could tell he was warming to my prediction.

“Why do you guys love this show so much, anyway?” Leo asked through a mouthful of cold pasta. “It’s just a bunch of people doing crazy stunts in foreign countries.”

“It’s about teamwork,” Ray said. “How people handle stress together.”

“And strategy,” I added. “When to push yourself versus when to play it safe.”

For the next twenty minutes, we were completely absorbed in the final race to the finish line. The divorced couple maintained their lead, communicating with quiet efficiency that stood in stark contrast to the bickering roommates and the distracted newlyweds.

“They’re going to win,” Ray said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You called it, Jeffrey.”

“They trust each other,” I said, watching as the woman calmly talked her ex-husband through a panic attack when they had to cross a suspension bridge. “Even after whatever broke them up, they still have that foundation.”

The divorced couple reached the final mat first, jumping up and down in celebration as the host declared them the winners of the one-million-dollar prize. In their post-win interview, the woman said something that caught my attention.

“Even though our marriage didn’t work out, this race reminded us why we were friends first. We had to relearn how to listen to each other, how to trust each other’s strengths.”

Her ex-husband nodded beside her. “The race stripped away all the noise that had come between us. At the end of the day, there was just the two of us against each challenge.”

“And now,” the host announced as the credits began to roll, “we’re looking for teams for our next season! If you think you have what it takes to travel the world and compete for one million dollars, applications are open at our website.”

“You guys should totally do that,” Leo said.

Ray and I both turned to stare at him.

“What?” Leo shrugged. “You love the show, you’re both in decent shape, and you’ve been married forever so you’ve got the whole teamwork thing down. Plus, Dad’s super athletic and Pop’s good with puzzles and strategy. You’d be perfect.”

If only he knew how fragile that “forever” marriage currently was, how tenuous our teamwork had become.

“It’s not that simple,” Ray started.

But I was already considering it. What had I told Ray after our first therapy session? I need to see if we can function as a team again, not just reminisce about the good old days.

“You know,” I said slowly, “that’s not a bad idea.”

Ray raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You hate flying.”

“I could get over that.”

“And heights. And swimming in open water. And eating weird food.”

I gestured toward the TV, where they were showing highlights from the season. “If those divorced people can do it together, surely we can.”

I thought about our day on the water—the moments of connection, the difficult conversations, the simple pleasure of moving in tandem through the mangrove tunnels. It had been just a taste of what the race would demand from us, and yet it had already revealed so much.

Something shifted on Ray’s face—a flash of understanding as he realized what I was really suggesting. This wouldn’t just be a reality TV adventure; it would be a test. A way to see if what we’d built over twenty-five years was strong enough to survive his betrayal.

“I could help you guys make the audition video,” Leo offered, oblivious to the undercurrents between us. “We just did a whole unit on promotional videos in my film production class. I’d make you guys look awesome.”

“It’s a crazy idea,” Ray said, but I could tell he was considering it.

“You’re always telling me I should take more risks,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, like trying sushi, not competing on national television.”

“Afraid I’ll show you up?” I challenged, falling back into our familiar pattern of gentle competition.

A slow smile spread across Ray’s face—the first genuine one I’d seen since discovering the affair. “Not a chance, babe.”

“So you’re in?”

He held my gaze, and I knew he understood the real question: Was he willing to fight for us? To put our broken relationship through the ultimate stress test?

“I’m in,” he said quietly. “All the way.”

Leo pumped his fist. “Awesome! I’ll start storyboarding the video tomorrow. We need to showcase your strengths as a team.”

As our son launched into an enthusiastic outline of how he’d shoot our audition, Ray reached across the couch and squeezed my hand briefly. I didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet. But it was the first step on a journey that would either bring us back together or show us, once and for all, that it was time to go our separate ways.

I should have said no. Should have reminded him that we were still in couples therapy, still rebuilding the most basic levels of trust between us. That throwing ourselves into the pressure cooker of international travel and high-stakes competition was probably the worst idea possible.

Instead, I found myself nodding. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Really?” Ray looked as surprised as I felt.

“Really,” I confirmed.