PART ONE — THE MAN SHE CALLED BORING
The voice note was still playing when I walked into the kitchen.
“Babe, you left your sports bra in my locker. Tell your sad-sack husband you’re working late tomorrow. We need to go over your ground game.”
A loud laugh followed.
I stood there with one hand on the kitchen counter and listened to it twice.
Not because I didn’t understand what I’d heard.
Because after fourteen years of marriage, I couldn’t understand how easily my wife had said it.
My wife, Claire.
Fourteen years.
Fourteen Christmases.
Two houses.
One mortgage.
Hundreds of dinners where we sat across from each other and talked about nothing.
And now there was a twenty-eight-year-old chafar kickboxing instructor calling my wife “babe” while telling her to lie to me.
I looked at the phone.
Then at the stairs.
Claire appeared a minute later wearing her robe.
She stopped when she saw me holding her phone.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she sighed.
Not ashamed.
Annoyed.
“His name is Derek.”
I nodded.
“I heard.”
“He’s not just some guy.”
“I figured.”
“He owns Apex Predator.”
“The gym?”
“Yes.”
I placed her phone gently on the counter.
Claire crossed her arms.
“You’ve been different for years, Cole.”
“I know.”
“You’re quiet. You don’t go anywhere. You come home from work, eat dinner, watch television, and go to bed.”
“I know.”
“I feel like I’m married to a corpse.”
That one landed differently.
Not because it was cruel.
Because part of me knew exactly why I’d become quiet.
I had spent my twenties in places where being loud got people killed.
I’d learned to sleep lightly.
To watch doors.
To listen for footsteps.
To recognize the difference between fireworks and incoming fire.
I had learned that panic was contagious.
So I stopped showing it.
After I left the military, I tried to become somebody else.
I sold commercial HVAC systems.
I wore polo shirts.
I paid bills.
I fixed leaking faucets.
I took Claire to restaurants.
I became the safe, predictable man she said she wanted.
Apparently, safe and predictable had eventually become boring.
Claire looked at me.
“I want a divorce.”
I stared at her for several seconds.
Then I nodded.
“Okay.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Fight for me.”
