Chapter 2

The pawn shop owner eyed the rifle with disinterest, then the tools. He offered a laughably small amount. I didn't argue. I took the crumpled bills. It was enough for gas, maybe some water and crackers. Our pickup truck, a relic from a time when David still pretended to care, groaned in protest but started. I settled Leo in the passenger seat, wrapped in every blanket we owned. Carol sat beside him, her breathing shallow. The drive to Fort Devereux was an agony of jolting roads and my own racing thoughts. Every mile brought us closer to the man who had destroyed us, and to the woman who had helped him. Leo whimpered, his fever making him restless. Carol coughed, a dry, painful sound. I focused on the road, on the image of David's polished, self-satisfied face. The main gate of Fort Devereux loomed ahead, a symbol of the life David had chosen over ours. I pulled up to the guard booth, my hands shaking. "Sarah Miller," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm here to see my husband, Captain David Miller." The guard checked his list. Just then, a figure emerged from the administration building, striding purposefully. David. He looked impeccable in his uniform, not a hair out of place. His eyes, when they landed on our rusted-out truck, on me in my worn clothes, on Leo’s flushed face peeking from the blankets, widened in annoyance. Then, embarrassment. He strode over, his face a mask of controlled irritation. "Sarah? What in God's name are you doing here?" he hissed, keeping his voice low. He barely glanced at his mother. His eyes flickered over Leo, cold and distant. Leo, despite his fever, managed a weak, hopeful, "Daddy?" David’s face tightened. "Not here, Leo," he snapped. "You call me 'Captain Miller's friend' if anyone asks. Understand?" Leo flinched, his lower lip trembling. My heart clenched. Before I could speak, a military jeep pulled up. A man with colonel’s eagles on his collar stepped out – Colonel Peterson, I remembered his name from David’s occasional, boastful mentions. David snapped to attention, his posture rigid. Colonel Peterson looked from David to our dilapidated truck, his gaze lingering on Leo’s small, feverish face and Carol’s frail form. "Captain Miller," the Colonel said, his voice neutral. "Who are these folks?" David’s composure slipped. A flicker of panic crossed his face. "Sir," he stammered, "these are… some folks from my old hometown church. Their house burned down. Just here for a couple of days until FEMA can help." My breath caught. The lie was so blatant, so cruel. Colonel Peterson looked at us with what seemed like pity. "Well, Captain, see that they're taken care of. Show them some hospitality." "Yes, sir. Of course, sir," David said, relief washing over his face. As the Colonel drove off, David turned on me, his face contorted with fury. "Are you trying to ruin me?" he seethed. "My promotion review is next month! What were you thinking, showing up like this, looking like… like this?" Carol, though weak, found her voice. "David! How dare you? These are your wife and son! And you lie about them? Have you no shame?" "I'm under a lot of pressure, Mother!" David whined, his voice rising. "I'm doing all this for the family's future! You just don't understand!" "Future?" I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "What future, David?" He ignored me, gesturing impatiently for me to follow him deeper into the base. We drove past neat rows of identical houses, a stark contrast to our trailer. He pulled up to one that was surprisingly well-maintained, even having a small, tidy garden. His lair. He knocked on the door. It opened, and there she was. Jessica. She was dressed in a stylish sundress, her hair perfectly coiffed, a light scent of perfume wafting from her. The picture of domestic bliss. She feigned polite surprise, her eyes flicking over me, Leo, and Carol with a cool assessment. "David, darling," she said, her voice sweet as honey. "Who are your… guests?"