Page 96 of The Unwanted Wife

I nod.

"And came to tell me."

"I managed to persuade the powers that be it was the right thing to do. That I was the person to tell you about what had happened to him. I wanted to be there for you."

Her lips droop. "But you weren’t there when I woke up."

"I couldn’t be there with you." I take another step in her direction, "Not when I could have stopped the mission from going forward. It was more than a feeling; I had information the mission could be compromised?—"

"You had information?" she asks slowly.

I widen my stance, shoulders squared, spine straight. You can do this, soldier. You owe it to her to do this. You owe her the truth. "It wasn’t confirmed, but there were indications." Why is this so hard? I faced down an enquiry for this and was cleared and yet, the guilt has never left me. Is that why I want to come clean to her? To assuage my conscience? No, it’s more than that. I want her to know everything about what happened to Ben. I want to do the right thing by her.

"There were indications?" Her forehead wrinkles.

I nod. "I’d heard from unconfirmed sources that the mission could be compromised. That the enemy soldiers knew about our move. That our team could be ambushed. I told Ben it was best to cancel, but he knew how important it was to move. He knew, if we didn’t take that opportunity, it would lead to other, much bigger losses on our side."

"You let him sacrifice himself?" Her voice is cold.

"No, not at all." I walk over to her and sink down on my knees in front of her, but when I try to take her hands in mine, she pulls away. I’m left looking up at her with an imploring expression on my face. "That’s not what happened at all. He was a soldier; he had a right to decide if he wanted to move forward. He, and everyone else in our battalion."

"You were their leader?—"

"And their strategist. I had no family. I had nothing to lose. I decided to move forward. I wanted to do it on my own, but?—"

"Ben wouldn’t let you go alone."

"I told him not to come." I shake my head. That scene is fresh in my mind. "I told him he needed to stay back. He could coordinate the mission from base instead. That’s as important as being on the front lines. But he laughed at me. He asked if I wanted to keep all the fun for myself. He asked why I was being that selfish. I told him to think of you."

"And?" She swallows. "What did he say?"

51

Nathan

"That you were a soldier’s sister. You knew how important it was for him to give his best for our country. He was insistent. He was filled with a sense of purpose, a sense that this is where he was needed."

"So, you both went on that last mission, and Ben saved your life.”

A ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I nod. She remembers that. She remembers who I am. I was worried that when her memory of what happened to Ben returned, she might forget who I was, but she hasn’t. Thank fuck. I nod slowly.

"The bomb that hurt my hearing on that mission, the one Ben saved me from”—I swallow—“it also injured him. He was bleeding profusely from a chest wound. I patched him up. I wanted to carry him to the extraction point, but he insisted on making it on his own steam, so we could carry our dead comrades with us. Once we got on the chopper, he collapsed. I held his hand on the journey back."

The scent of copper, of burned flesh, of death on the fringes of the space washes over me again. My stomach lurches. Acid burns the back of my mouth, but I choke it down.

"I told him he had to live. I asked him to think of you, and you know what he said?"

She shakes her head, her eyes wide in her pale face.

"He said as long as I was there, he knew you’d be fine.”

Her lips tremble.

“He asked me to look out for you. He made me promise I’d always be there for you.”

“Oh, Ben.” She takes a step back and comes up against the ledge of the window.

Emotion squeezes my chest. I shift my weight from knee to knee. “He made it back to base, made what seemed to be a full recovery but—" I roll my shoulders. "But he wasn’t ready to return to civilian life. He knew he’d lost his edge and could never be sent on a mission again. It was as if he’d lost his purpose."

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