Page 35 of Open Secrets
When I showed up at the hospital all those years ago and Maria told me what my mom had said, I didn’t fight it. I let her believe it. Told her I’d slipped, that it was a mistake, which wasn’t a lie—just not the whole truth. I left out the part where my mom probably saidmy daughterjust to twist the knife, not to help me.
Now it’s 1 p.m., and I’m sitting outside Dr. Nina’s office. Maria isn’t here yet. When I reminded her this morning, she didn’t say anything. I can’t tell if she ignored me, or if she really didn’t hear. Maybe both.
So here I sit. Waiting. Wondering if she’ll actually show, or if I’ll be the idiot husband sitting alone in a therapist’s office, trying to explain a marriage that feels like it’s cracking under its own weight.
My prayers are answered at exactly 1:00. Two things happen at once: the door to Dr. Nina’s office opens, and the love of my life walks into the waiting room.
I can breathe again.
I stand, relief breaking across me like sunlight, and shake the hand Dr. Nina holds out. “Lyle Connelly.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. I gesture toward Maria, who lingers by the doorway. “This is my wife, Maria.”
Maria’s smile is small, polite, the kind you’d give a stranger on the street. She shakes Dr. Nina’s hand.
“Please, come in,” Nina says, gesturing us into the office. We follow, Maria slipping into the far corner of the couch, me sittingawkwardly closer to the middle, like I’m bridging a distance she refuses to cross. Nina watches us both with those calm therapist eyes, already cataloguing the space between us.
“So,” she says once we’re settled, “what brings you here today?”
I glance at Maria, waiting for her to speak. She doesn’t. Her gaze stays fixed on the edge of the table, like the wood grain’s more interesting than this conversation. The silence stretches until I clear my throat.
“We’re, uh…” My fingers knot together. “We’re having some problems. We had some before, and then—we chose to open our marriage. And it worked. For almost three years, it worked. But now…” My voice trails off. I can’t bring myself to finish.
Nina nods, jotting something down, her pen scratching slow and steady. Then she turns her gaze to Maria. “Maria? Would you like to add something here?”
Maria shifts, uncrosses her legs, then folds them again. Finally, she lifts her chin, voice flat but cutting. “I just have one problem. I no longer want to be a single parent.”
The words land like a slap. My mouth opens before I can stop it. “You are not a single parent—”
Nina raises a hand, her voice firm. “Lyle, you had your turn. This is Maria’s time.”
I sink back, jaw tight.
Maria exhales, her voice softer now, but edged with exhaustion. “I… I knew this is what our marriage would be. I knew it going in. But what I didn’t know was that my husband would volunteer for every deployment possible. That he’d leave as often as he could. That he’d do everything in his power to not be home.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “At first, I tried to be patient. I told myself it was noble, that you were serving. I made excuses. And every time you came back fine—no injuries, no trauma I could see—I thought, okay. I can breathe. I can stop worrying.”
Her eyes shine now, cutting to me. “But then you got hurt. And Lyle, I can’t turn that part of my brain off anymore. The part that says, ‘He’s probably dead.’ Every time you leave. Every time the phone rings late at night, even when you’re sleeping next to me. It never stops. And don’t tell me the kids don’t feel it too.”
My head jerks. “What are you talking about?”
Maria lets out a sharp breath, incredulous. “Come on, Lyle. The way Remi and Taylor have been lately? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I shift, uneasy. “I have noticed. They’re teenagers, Maria. Teenagers pull away.”
Her laugh is brittle, disbelieving. “Really? Or maybe they’ve just realized that you’re only home until the Army calls again. Until another opportunity comes up for you to leave us.”
The words hang between us like smoke.
I rake my hand through my hair. “I have to go. It’s my duty.”
Nina, calm but pointed, leans forward slightly. “Lyle—you say it’s your duty. But if I’m understanding correctly, these deployments… they’re voluntary?”
The room feels smaller. My shoulders sag. “Yeah,” I admit finally, voice low. “They are. But it’s what I joined the Army to do. To serve my country.”
Nina’s gaze stays steady on me, but it doesn’t feel like judgment. Just pressure. Pressure to stop dodging.
“Then why keep volunteering, Lyle?” she asks quietly. “Why choose to leave, when you could stay?”
I open my mouth—close it again. The answer lodges in my throat, too heavy, too tangled.
