Page 87 of Misery In Me

“Have you been feeling any kicks?” he asks, his eyes never leaving my belly.

I nod, a soft laugh escaping my lips. “Yes, it’s the strangest sensation, but it’s amazing. Like little flutters and taps.”

Gage swallows hard, trying to compose himself. “I wish I could be there with you for all of this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you both so much.” I feel a pang in my chest, knowing that he is missing out on the moments he missed out on with Zoe. A small part of me wishes we would have waited, but with how often he gets deployed, we would always be at risk of him missing things.

“I know, Gage. But you’re there doing something important, and we’re here waiting for you.” I reassure him.

We talk a little longer, sharing smiles and promises, before we have to say our goodbyes. As I end the call, I place a hand on my belly, feeling the slight movement of my baby. “Your daddy loves you very much,” I whisper, a tear rolling down my cheek.

After our video call with Gage, I spend some time just holding Zoe, feeling her little body rise and fall with each breath as she sleeps on my chest. It’s a comforting rhythm, a reminder of the simple joys in life amidst the chaos. I can’t help but think about how much Gage is missing out on, and how sweet all of this will be when he decides to get out of the service. We’ve onlybriefly talked about it and with him only eight years away from twenty years in, it only makes sense that he sticks with it.

We can do eight more years.

The sun sets,casting a warm glow over the family room, and with Zoe down for the night, I prepare for the social worker’s visit tomorrow. The stepparent adoption process has been on hold until Gage can be here, and I want everything to be perfect for when that day comes. I believe that having Gage here will make the process smoother and more meaningful for all of us.

But I can still get all the requirements done so that all that will need to be done is the official court date when I am appointed her mother legally.

I tidy up the living room, putting away any clutter and arranging the furniture to make the space inviting and comfortable. I want the social worker to see that our home is a loving and stable environment for Zoe and our upcoming baby. I place some family photos on the coffee table, including one of Gage, Zoe, and me, taken before he deployed. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what we’re fighting for.

Next, I move on to the kitchen, making sure it’s spotless. I bake some cookies and get dinner prepped for tomorrow. The scent of the chocolate chip cookies fills the house with a comforting aroma. It’s a small touch, but I want to make a good impression. I set the table with our best dishes, imagining the four of us—Gage, Zoe, the baby, and me—sitting down to a meal together.

I can feel the baby moving more actively while I clean and get the house ready, as if responding to the energy and anticipation in the room. I place a hand on my belly, smiling as I feel a littlekick. “Your daddy will be home soon,” I whisper. “And then we’ll all be together. You are so loved.”

I take a moment to review the adoption process in my mind. Reminding myself that I need to gather any necessary documents and have them ready for the social worker’s review. With the house in order, I turn my attention to myself. Opting for a warm bath, letting the water soothe my aching muscles. I wash my hair and apply a moisturizer, taking care of myself in a way that I often neglect now that it’s just me and Zoe.

I spend the remaining time of my night curled up in bed with a bowl of fruit and my latest book until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. With a hand on my belly, curled up with Gage’s pillow, feeling the gentle movements of our unborn child, I drift off to sleep, dreaming of the day when our family will be complete.

THIRTY-SIX

GAGE

The sun beats down on us as we move stealthily through the narrow streets of the Afghan village. The last leg of my tour is almost here, and I can taste the anticipation of going home to Ale, Zoe, and our unborn child. But for now, duty calls, and we’re deep in enemy territory, scouting for any signs of insurgent activity.

Our unit, a tight-knit group of Marines, moves with precision and silence. I’m the team leader, the Gunnery Sergeant, and the responsibility of my brothers’ lives weighs heavily on my shoulders. We’re on a mission to gather intel, nothing more, but in this part of the world, even the simplest missions can turn deadly in an instant.

We round a corner, and the world explodes into chaos. Gunfire erupts from every direction, and I hear the distinctive crack of AK-47s and the heavier thud of RPGs. “Ambush!” someone shouts, but it’s already clear. We’re pinned down, caught in a crossfire between multiple insurgent positions.

“Take cover!” I bark, diving into a nearby building. The others follow, finding what little cover they can. The firefight is intense, bullets ricocheting off the walls and kicking up dustfrom the floor. I return fire, my M4 carving a path of destruction through the enemy ranks.

To my left, I see Morales, laying down suppressing fire. His face is a mask of concentration, his movements fluid and practiced. We’ve been through hell and back together, and I know I can count on him to have my six.

Suddenly, I hear a grunt of pain and turn to see Jackson’s eyes flash with pain as he goes down. He’s hit and blood blooms across his uniform.

“Ryder!” McCormick drops to his side, pressing his hands against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

Morales and I exchange a glance, and without a word, we spring into action. We drag Jackson to a safer spot, his body limp and unresponsive. I can see the fear in McCormick’s eyes as he follows, staying by Ryder’s side. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but the words catch in my throat. We’re in the middle of a fucking war zone, and Ryder’s bleeding out.

“We need to keep moving!” I shout over the sound of gunfire. Morales nods, and together, we press forward, clearing the room of insurgents. The battle rages on, but we fight with a renewed ferocity, driven by the need to protect our fallen brother and finish the mission.

The gunfire finally subsides, and I take stock of the situation. The insurgents are dead or retreating, and the building is secure—for now. I turn to check on Ryder, and my heart sinks. Ethan is cradling him in his arms, his face pale and stricken. I don’t need to be a doctor to know that Ryder isn’t gonna make it.

I drop to my knees beside them, placing a hand on Ryder’s shoulder. “Hang in there, Ryder,” I say, silently begging for him to make a miraculous recovery. “We’ve got you.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re a lie. His breaths are shallow and ragged, and his eyes are already glazing over.

Morales joins us, his face grim. He presses his fingers to Ryder’s neck, searching for a pulse, but it’s no use. Ryder Jackson, my friend and a damned good Marine, is gone.

McCormick looks up at me, his eyes filled with unshed tears. “Gage,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I feel a profound sense of responsibility, of guilt. As the team leader, I should have seen this coming. I should have done more to protect him.

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