“Because we had something real. Something deeper than their superficial friendships and casual hookups. They couldn’t understand the kind of love that required sacrifice.”
Sacrifice. That was how he framed my isolation, my bruises, my constant fear. Not as abuse, but as proof of our special connection. Evidence that what we had was worth fighting for, worth suffering for.
I wanted to believe him because the alternative—accepting that I was trapped in an abusive relationship—was too terrifying to contemplate. If I admitted the truth to myself, I knew I would have to do something about it. And doing something about it meant facing the possibility of being alone again.
The phone call from Jude came on a rainy Thursday in March, ten months into the new reality I lived in. I was at home, chopping vegetables for dinner, my ribs still sore from where Dex had elbowed me during an argument the night before. The dull ache didn’t stop me from moving through the kitchen—routine was easier than thinking—but when the phone rang, I froze with the knife in my hand.
“Hey, Will.” My brother’s voice sounded distant and tinny through the international connection. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” I lied automatically. “Really good. How are you? Where are you calling from?”
“I can’t say exactly, but I want to talk to you about something important.” He paused, and I heard voices in the background—other soldiers going about their business. “I’ve been thinking a lot about purpose lately. About what it means to protect people.”
Something in his voice made me sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“I enlisted because I felt called to serve, to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. And being here, seeing what I’ve seen…it made me realize how important that calling really is.”
I felt tears prick my eyes, though I wasn’t sure why. “You’re doing important work, Jude.”
“I know. But, Will, I need you to understand something. Protection isn’t just about soldiers and civilians. Sometimes the people who need protecting most are the ones closest to us.”
My throat tightened. Did he know? Did he somehow sense what was happening to me from thousands of miles away? I pressed my free hand against my chest, trying to slow my breathing.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“If you ever need me—if you ever need protection—you call me. Okay? No matter what time it is, no matter where I am, you call me.”
I wanted to tell him everything then. About the bruises. About the fear. About how I had slowly become a stranger to myself. But Dex was working from home that day, and I knew he could overhear every word from our bedroom.
“Okay,” I said instead. “I will.”
“Promise me, Will.”
“I promise.”
But even as I made that promise, I knew I wouldn’t keep it. Jude had enough to worry about without adding my problemsto his burden. He risked his life to protect strangers; the least I could do was handle my own problems without dragging him into them. That was what I told myself, anyway. It felt easier than admitting how afraid I was.
After I hung up, I stood in the kitchen with the knife still in my hand and cried quietly—for the brother who always tried to take care of me, even from the other side of the world; for the girl I used to be, who would have told him the truth without hesitation; and for the woman I had become, who was too ashamed and too afraid to ask for help.
After a while, when the aroma of dinner filled the apartment and I was setting the table, Dex came out of the bedroom with a warm smile—the kind that had once made my heart leap.
“I was thinking,” he said as we sat down to the takeout he’d ordered from my favorite restaurant, “we should start planning a real vacation. Somewhere tropical, just the two of us.”
For a moment, I felt hope flutter in my chest. It was small and fragile, but it was there. Maybe things could get better. Maybe this was him trying to make an effort, trying to rebuild what we had lost.
“That sounds wonderful,” I said.
“Good. Because I thought we needed time away from all the stress and distractions. Time to focus on each other…and maybe finally talk about starting a family—only if you’re ready.”
He reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb stroking across my knuckles in a gesture that once made my heart race.
“I love you, Willa. I know I haven’t always shown it the right way, but everything I do is because I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
I squeezed his hand and smiled, because that was what was expected of me. Because I still believed, despite everything, that love was supposed to hurt sometimes. That relationshipsrequired sacrifice and compromise, and the willingness to weather difficult storms.
I had no idea the worst storm was still coming.
The night of Dex’s gallery showing—the night I saw Kieran again and immediately knew he was avoiding me—was the night everything finally fell apart.
