Page 9 of Open Secrets
“I bought it weeks ago,” I answered quickly, defensive.
Her breath shuddered out. “We’re eighteen, Lyle. Do you really think we’re ready for marriage?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
Her voice cracked. “How? I’ll be in Austin. You’ll be… everywhere. You know me. Do you really think I can be like your mom? Drop everything to follow you around the world?”
“Why not? My mom got to travel the world.”
Maria shook her head, tears glinting. “Your mom reads our texts, Lyle. She’s obsessed with her kids’ lives. I don’t want that.”
The words hit deep, bitter, and I snapped before I could stop myself. “At least she didn’t walk out.”
Her face went pale. My gut twisted. I got up and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. But you’re not even giving us a shot.”
She pulled back, her voice steady in the way that scared me most. “You’re right. My mom walked out because she didn’t want this small-town life. And I don’t want an Army-wife life. I won’t repeat her mistakes.”
I took a step back, my throat burning. “That’s it then? We’re just done?”
She shrugged, silent, and that shrug hurt worse than any punch.
I dragged my tongue across my teeth, fighting tears, then grabbed her hand again. With my other, I lifted the ring. “Well, I bought this for you,” I whispered, pressing it into her palm.
Her breath hitched. “I can’t.”
“Keep it as a memento,” I said, already stepping back.
“I love you,” I added, voice breaking, and before she could answer — before I unravelled completely — I opened the door and walked out.
The night swallowed me whole.
Chapter Three
Maria — Present
I draw a breath before pushing open the bedroom door.
Lyle sits on the edge of the bed with a duffel leaning against his leg, his head is in his palms like he does when he’s stressed.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, my voice too soft.
His head lifts, caught like a kid with his hand in the jar. “Well, I thought—”
I close the door behind me, the click final, and let the breath leave me all at once. “I don’t want you to leave.”
He shrugs, his shoulders tight, his eyes fixed on the floor. “You said you weren’t happy.”
I cross the room slowly and lower myself onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “I’m not,” I admit, words catching as I lick my lips, searching for something gentler than the truth. “But not because of you. I don’t want to end our marriage. I just don’t think I can survive this—” my throat closes, “—sham of a marriage anymore.”
Lyle shifts, then pushes himself to his feet, closing the short distance until he sits beside me. His body is warm, solid.
“Sham of a marriage?” he asks, quiet but sharp.
I tilt my head, eyes stinging. “Come on, Lyle. We sleep with other people. We barely spend three months a year together. And even then it’s like—work. Managing the house, the bills, the kids. Not us.”
His jaw works. “It’s… what?” The word carries more weight than it should.
I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling, fighting tears that won’t stay down. “I know it was my idea, but it just…” A sob rises, and I choke it back.
