Page 17 of Wynter's Second Chance

“I try to be strong, Dad, but sometimes I cry.”

I kissed the top of his head, feeling the prickle of his short hair against my lips and cheeks. My sweet, sweet boy. He was such a good kid. If Royce were here, he’d be so proud of our son. “Crying is good, because it reminds us that we loved someone very much. We loved your papa a lot. I remember when you wanted your own clubhouse, and he spent his whole vacation building it for you.”

“I still use it.” Even though he’d outgrown it ages ago, Rory could still often be found there, reading or just sitting and thinking.

I didn’t have the heart to give it away.

“He used to do a lot for you.” I told Rory stories about his father, about all the little things Royce would make a point to do for him whenever he had the time. Though Royce couldn’t spend as much time as he wanted with our son, he tried to be a good father. We sat there on the cold basement floor, going through Royce’s clothes and old books. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t thrown any of this stuff away. If I had, Rory wouldn’t have known so many little things about his father. He wouldn’t know that Royce always kept a handkerchief in his pocket, or about hislegendary CD collection. That he’d saved all our love letters and pictures of this little family. One day, I’d sit with Rory and tell him about Royce’s twin sister, who died long before Rory was born.

“Tomorrow is a school day, kiddo. You need to sleep.” I tucked everything back into the suitcase and stood up. “Come on, let’s go.” After leading him upstairs, I tucked him in and sat with him for a while, even though I felt exhausted. When the time was right, I’d sit with him again and talk about Royce. I wanted Rory to understand that his papa may have lost the will to live, but he never lost his love for us. Now that Rory knew the truth, it felt even more important to reinforce those good memories.

CHAPTER 8

WYNTER

The early morning light filtered through the frost-kissed windows of the cabin, casting a soft, golden glow on the rustic pine walls. It was quiet here, secluded in a way that felt almost sacred. A single crackle from the fire in the stone hearth broke the silence.

I sat in front of my laptop at the little wooden table that Bill and Edie Lawson had set up near the window, with a view of snow-dusted pines stretching out beyond the cabin. A steady blanket of white covered everything, rendering the world outside still and untouched, as if this whole town was frozen in time. I liked the privacy here, the way it was just me and the trees and the open space of the Colorado wilderness. No prying eyes. No expectations. Just me and my thoughts, wrestling with the decision that had brought me here.

The Judicial Branch website loaded slowly, and as it did, I reached into my laptop bag, pulling out a small folder I hadn’t touched in months. My fingers found the edge of a photo—one of my favorites, taken in the early years. Lisa and I were smiling, arms wrapped around each other, carefree and happy, or at least I had thought so at the time. Those were good memories,moments I’d held onto for decades. Whenever the photos began to fade from years of being tucked into pockets, pinned to walls, and carried across the world, I’d print fresh copies, almost like I was trying to preserve not just the image, but the life we’d built. A life I’d loved fiercely. And now… now couldn’t hold onto anymore.

I thumbed through the images, each one a piece of a story that now felt like someone else’s life. My second deployment, a send-off with friends, Lisa waving, holding a flag in one hand. The day we moved into our house, the two of us standing on the porch, her hand resting on my arm while I held up the keys like they were a trophy. A backyard barbecue, Lisa in her favorite sundress. But as I looked closer, as I let myself really look, I saw it. In each one of those photos, there was another constant presence, someone who’d been there all along.

Taran.

There he was, grinning in the background, usually with his arm slung around my shoulder, or laughing at some long-forgotten joke. I realized it wasn’t just the big moments that Taran had shown up for—he was there for the quiet ones, too. He was there for our dinners on the back deck, for the Fourth of July barbecues, for the small get-togethers when it was just us and the people we trusted most. In every memory I had held close, he was there, a solid presence I’d been blind to until now.

How hadn’t I seen it before?

Looking at those pictures with fresh eyes, I felt a pang of regret but also a strange sense of clarity. Had I been subconsciously holding onto something more, something deeper for him? Had he been the one constant I could always rely on, a steady heartbeat through years of separation, through deployments and distance, even through my marriage with Lisa? The truth sat heavy in my chest, unexpected but undeniable.

With a slow exhale, I set the photos aside and turned back to my laptop. The screen glowed faintly, illuminating the wordsPetition for Dissolution of Marriage. It sounded clinical, final. I knew this was just the beginning of the process, but there was something stark and irrevocable about seeing it in black and white. Still, something nagged at me, something I hadn’t fully acknowledged until now: part of me blamed myself for what had happened.

Maybe if I hadn’t been in the army, on the mission, maybe Lisa wouldn’t have sought attention and affection from another man. What kind of husband puts his career before his family? And when guilt wasn’t weighing me down, I felt embarrassed, ashamed, like I’d failed her, failed us.

I’d spent some time reading online articles about dealing with affairs and divorce, trying to make sense of my feelings. The advice was all so clinical. But the words kept repeating themselves:your spouse’s actions are not your fault.Those seven words played a loop in my head.

I clicked into the form, my fingers hovering over the keyboard… and then I began to fill it out. I knew this was the right thing to do. Relief trickled in, a lightness that made my fingers move a little faster over the keys. I was taking back control, claiming the freedom I hadn’t even realized I needed.

I clicked the final button and watched as the petition was submitted. It was done. The marriage I had believed in was over. And as much as I felt the sting of that loss, there was also a strange, soft peace settling over me. I closed the laptop and let my gaze drift back out the window. Snow had begun to fall again, soft and silent, blanketing the ground in fresh possibility.

In that stillness, I knew there were some things I still needed to do. I sensed Taran had his suspicions that my relationship with Lisa wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Since we’d hung out at Funky Gourmet, he’d messaged me to see if I was okay. The manwas intuitive; he knew something was off. I’d brushed it off, told him things were fine. But now, it was time to tell him the truth. He deserved to know.

I’d have to be careful, though. There was still one thing I couldn’t let him see—one secret that had stayed buried all these years. Even as I let go of Lisa, even as I admitted the reality of my broken marriage, that one truth must stay locked up tight.

I pulled up to Taran’s house just as Rory stepped out onto the sidewalk, a stack of parcels in his arms. I stopped the car just short of the curb, the tires crunching softly over the snow before everything fell quiet.

For a second, I just watched him—tall, slim, with the same determined look on his face that I’d seen when he was mixing the batter in the kitchen. He had that spark in his eyes, the one that said he was always thinking, always planning. My heart tugged as I marveled at how much he'd grown. Rory had been just a little guy the last time I’d seen him. Now he looked like a teenager on the verge of growing into himself. But he had that air of uncertainty, like he was still figuring out how to make all those grown-up decisions, but trying to do it in a way that made him seem confident, even if he wasn’t.

I climbed out of the car and called out, "Hey, Rory."

He froze mid-step, shoulders tensing before he turned to face me. His expression shifted from surprise to something a bit more guarded. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, carefully. “Did you need something?”

“Just came by to see your dad. Is he around?”

Rory adjusted the boxes he was carrying, shaking his head. “He’s out right now. He won’t be back for another hour.”

I glanced at the packages in his hands. “Looks like you’re on a mission, though. Need an extra hand?”

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