Chapter 11 - Washington
I met General Lawson the following morning.
His office door closed behind me.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sit down.”
I sat.
He pushed a folder toward me.
Brigadier general selection.
Washington assignment.
The kind of opportunity officers spent entire careers chasing.
“You earned this.”
I looked at the folder.
“I need to decline.”
Lawson leaned back.
“That was fast.”
“My former wife is undergoing chemotherapy.”
“Former wife.”
“Yes.”
“Does she want you to decline?”
I hesitated.
Lawson noticed.
“You haven’t asked her.”
“I know what matters.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“You know what you think matters.”
That sounded too familiar.
He folded his hands.
“Maybe stop making decisions for that woman.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone apparently understood my marriage better than I had.
That evening, I told Sophie.
She stared at me.
“You declined?”
“Not officially.”
“But you plan to.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“No?”
“You are not turning down a general’s star because I’m sick.”
“It isn’t because you’re sick.”
“That is exactly why.”
“I want to be here.”
“Wanting something and sacrificing something are not the same.”
“Sophie—”
“No.”
She stood.
“This is what I was afraid of.”
“What?”
“You’re replacing abandonment with martyrdom.”
The accusation stopped me.
“I’m trying to choose you.”
“You don’t get to choose me instead of yourself.”
Her eyes burned.
“That isn’t love either.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Ask me.”
The words were simple.
I had somehow never learned them.
So I did.
“What do you want?”
Sophie exhaled.
“I want you to stay through my next two treatment cycles.”
“Okay.”
“After that, if my scans are good, go to Washington for the board.”
My jaw tightened.
“And if they’re bad?”
“Then we decide together.”
Together.
The word almost hurt.
“You’d do that?”
“I didn’t say we’re getting back together.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“But we were married for five years.”
Her voice softened.
“Maybe we should finally try being partners.”
I nodded.
“I’d like that.”
Three days later, Sophie received her next chemotherapy infusion.
I sat beside her.
She slept most of the afternoon.
Halfway through, a woman across the room smiled at me.
“Your wife is lucky.”
Before I could correct her, Sophie opened her eyes.
“No.”
The woman looked embarrassed.
Sophie turned toward me.
Then completed the sentence.
“We’re both trying to become luckier.”
That evening, Dr. Patel called.
Sophie’s bloodwork had changed unexpectedly.
May you like
He wanted her back the next morning.
And suddenly hope became dangerous again.
