Chapter 5 - The Letter I Was Never Supposed to Read
I carried Sophie’s letter in my pocket for eleven hours before opening it.
Every few minutes, my hand found the envelope.
I could feel the edges through the fabric.
It weighed almost nothing.
Yet I had carried equipment through combat zones that felt lighter.
Luke had told me Sophie wanted the letter delivered only if treatment failed.
That meant opening it now would violate her trust.
I had already done enough of that for one lifetime.
So I waited.
The next morning, Sophie’s fever was gone.
Her blood counts were still low, but Dr. Chen was optimistic.
Sophie was eating toast when I entered.
She looked at my face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Your nothing face is terrible.”
“I have a nothing face?”
“You have several.”
She pointed at me with the toast.
“That one means you are hiding something because you think you’re protecting somebody.”
I almost laughed.
Then remembered the envelope.
Apparently five years of marriage left certain skills intact.
“Luke came.”
Her toast stopped halfway to her mouth.
“When?”
“Last night.”
Her expression closed instantly.
“What did he want?”
“Your mother called him.”
“Of course she did.”
“You didn’t tell me you spoke to him after the miscarriage.”
Sophie looked down.
“He told you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“He also gave me something.”
Her face changed.
I reached into my pocket.
The envelope appeared.
Sophie went completely still.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she whispered,
“You weren’t supposed to get that.”
“I know.”
“Give it back.”
I did.
Immediately.
That surprised her.
She took the envelope.
“You didn’t open it?”
“No.”
She turned it over.
Checked the seal.
Her eyes lifted toward mine.
“Why not?”
“Because you didn’t write it for me yet.”
Her expression softened.
Then hardened again.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“You have always been terrible at respecting boundaries.”
“Correct.”
“Yet you didn’t read this.”
“No.”
“Why?”
I sat beside the bed.
“Because I’m trying not to be terrible anymore.”
Sophie looked at the envelope.
Then placed it on the blanket.
“You really want to know what it says?”
“Yes.”
She picked it up.
For one terrible second, I thought she was going to hand it to me.
Instead, she tore it in half.
Then again.
And again.
I stared.
“What are you doing?”
“I changed my mind.”
She dropped the pieces into the trash.
“You don’t get a goodbye letter.”
My chest tightened.
“Good.”
She looked at me.
“You’re not supposed to say good.”
“I don’t want your goodbye.”
Her eyes filled.
“Then stop acting like I’m dying.”
I froze.
“Am I?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
She saw it.
“Sophie.”
“I’m not dying today.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
She looked toward the window.
I waited.
Finally, she whispered,
“I don’t know.”
The honesty hurt more than reassurance would have.
I moved closer.
“Then neither do I.”
She rubbed her eyes.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate not knowing.”
“I know.”
“I hate everybody watching me like I’m disappearing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her voice rose.
“You keep memorizing me.”
I stared at her.
“You watch when I eat.”
She continued.
“You watch how many times I cough.”
“You watch how far I can walk.”
“You count my medications.”
“You probably know my temperature better than I do.”
I looked down.
She was right.
“I spent years feeling invisible to you.”
Her voice softened.
“And now I feel like you can’t stop looking.”
That sentence cut deeply.
“I don’t know how to do this correctly.”
I admitted.
Sophie laughed through tears.
“That might be the first useful thing you’ve said.”
I nodded.
“Then tell me.”
“What?”
“How to be here.”
She stared at me.
“I don’t know either.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“We’ll be bad at it together.”
That made her laugh.
An actual laugh.
Small.
Weak.
But real.
I hadn’t heard that sound in months.
Maybe years.
For three days, Sophie remained hospitalized.
I went to work each morning.
I returned every afternoon.
My commanding officer, Brigadier General Robert Hale, noticed immediately.
He called me into his office on the second day.
“You look like hell.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sit down.”
I sat.
He closed a folder.
“Captain Reese told me your ex-wife is sick.”
I sighed.
“Daniel talks too much.”
“He also worries about you.”
“I’m fine.”
General Hale raised an eyebrow.
I almost smiled.
Apparently I had learned nothing.
“She has lymphoma.”
His expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re waiting to see how she responds to treatment.”
“You need leave?”
“I can manage.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I looked at him.
Hale had commanded me years earlier.
He had seen me after difficult deployments.
He knew exactly how I escaped pain.
“I don’t know.”
“Then take a week.”
“Sir—”
“That was not a suggestion.”
I almost objected.
Then remembered Sophie saying I always chose work.
“Yes, sir.”
When Sophie was discharged, I drove her home.
She no longer argued about it.
That frightened me more than the arguments had.
At the apartment, Luke was waiting.
Sophie stopped at the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“Mom sent me.”
“Mom is going to regret having my phone number.”
Luke held up grocery bags.
“I brought food.”
“I have food.”
“No, you have crackers and three yogurts.”
Sophie looked at me.
“You let him inside?”
“I don’t have a key.”
Luke lifted a key.
“I do.”
Sophie stared.
“How?”
“Mrs. Alvarez downstairs.”
“Traitor.”
Luke smiled.
It was the first time I saw the resemblance between them.
Same crooked grin.
Same stubborn eyes.
For the next hour, they fought like siblings who had spent years pretending they no longer cared about each other.
I stayed out of it.
Mostly.
Then Luke opened a cabinet.
A stack of envelopes fell onto the counter.
Medical bills.
Sophie grabbed them.
“I’ve got it.”
Luke took one.
His face changed.
“How much?”
“None of your business.”
“Sophie.”
“I have insurance.”
“Insurance doesn’t mean free.”
“I said I have it handled.”
I recognized the tone.
Luke did too.
He dropped the subject.
But later, when Sophie slept, he cornered me in the kitchen.
“She’s broke.”
“She isn’t.”
“She will be.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
“What do you know?”
“She sold her car.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You didn’t notice?”
“I thought she just didn’t drive after chemo.”
“She sold it before treatment.”
“Why?”
Luke looked at me like I was stupid.
“Bills.”
My jaw tightened.
“She could have called me.”
“She did.”
That stopped me.
Four calls.
Four voicemails.
I looked away.
Luke softened slightly.
“I’m not trying to torture you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“She won’t take money from you.”
“We had joint savings.”
“Not anymore.”
“She got half.”
Luke looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
I asked.
“She returned most of it.”
I stared.
“To who?”
“You.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Check your account.”
I pulled out my phone.
Opened the banking app.
There it was.
A transfer from almost seven weeks earlier.
I had missed it among routine transactions.
$34,600.
Memo.
YOUR HALF.
I felt sick.
“That money was hers.”
“Try telling her.”
I walked toward the bedroom.
Luke grabbed my arm.
“Not now.”
I looked at him.
“She’s sick.”
“That’s why you don’t start a fight.”
I stopped.
He released me.
“There’s something you need to understand about Sophie.”
“I was married to her.”
“Then you should already understand.”
Luke lowered his voice.
“She would rather lose everything than let somebody stay because they feel sorry for her.”
I thought about the hospital.
“You think that’s why she keeps pushing me away?”
“I think it’s one reason.”
“What’s the other?”
Luke looked toward the bedroom.
“She still loves you.”
The words struck hard.
I said nothing.
Luke continued.
“And she’s terrified you only came back because cancer gave you permission to care again.”
That possibility felt unbearable.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Luke shrugged.
“Prove her wrong.”
“How?”
“Stay when she’s not dramatic.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Anybody can stay during emergencies.”
Luke picked up the groceries.
“Stay during boring days.”
The phrase followed me.
Boring days.
So that was what I did.
I stayed.
I drove her to blood tests.
I sat in waiting rooms.
I cleaned without asking.
I watched terrible reality television because Sophie liked yelling at the contestants.
I learned which anti-nausea medication worked fastest.
I learned that lemon ice helped after chemo.
I learned that she hated people saying she was brave.
“Brave implies I volunteered.”
She told me.
I stopped calling her brave.
Two weeks later, we returned for repeat imaging.
Dr. Chen entered with results.
Sophie squeezed her hands together.
I sat beside her.
Dr. Chen smiled.
“The treatment is working.”
Sophie exhaled.
I felt something inside my chest release.
“How well?”
I asked.
“The primary masses have decreased significantly.”
Sophie covered her mouth.
Tears appeared.
I reached for her hand.
She took mine without hesitation.
For the first time, there was good news.
Real good news.
Dr. Chen continued explaining.
Then her expression shifted.
“There is one thing we need to discuss.”
The relief disappeared.
“What?”
Sophie asked.
Dr. Chen turned the monitor.
“There’s an abnormality on the scan near your liver.”
I stared at the image.
“What kind?”
I asked.
“We don’t know.”
Sophie’s fingers tightened around mine.
“Cancer?”
Dr. Chen hesitated.
“It may be nothing.”
I hated that phrase.
May you like
Because by then, Sophie and I had learned something terrible about nothing.
Nothing could become everything overnight.
