Chapter 3 - Cast into the Night
The sofa in the living room was stiff and smelled of a harsh cleaning chemical I didn't recognize. I lay there in the dark, still wearing my damp fatigue trousers, my bad leg propped up on a decorative pillow. Pain radiated from my ankle up to my spine, a rhythmic, throbbing agony that no amount of deep breathing could suppress.
Around 2:00 AM, the rain outside intensified, hammering against the glass windows like thrown gravel. Wind howled through the oak trees in the front yard.
I heard soft footsteps on the hardwood. I turned my head, my hand instinctively dropping to my hip where my sidearm usually sat, before remembering where I was.
"Mom?"
It was Lily. She was carrying a thin fleece blanket and clutching her worn stuffed rabbit.
"Hey, bug," I whispered, reaching out a hand. "What are you doing up?"
She crept over and sat on the floor beside the couch, pressing her face against my knee. "I couldn't sleep. Grandma said you were sick and that you were going to have to go away again to a special hospital."
My heart squeezed so hard I couldn't breathe for a moment. "Grandma said that?"
Lily nodded, her voice muffled against my trousers. "She said you weren't the same Mom anymore. That you were broken and that Dad was going to take care of us now."
"Listen to me, Lily," I said, sitting up with a sharp intake of breath as my leg protested the movement. I cupped her chin and forced her to look at me in the dim light filtering through the window. "I am damaged, but I am not broken. Do you understand me? I am right here. I am not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"I promise on my honor as an officer."
She squeezed my hand tight. Before we could say another word, the light in the hallway flickered on.
Patricia stood at the edge of the room, wearing a silk robe. Her eyes were hard as flints as she saw Lily sitting beside me.
"Lily," Patricia said, her voice sharp and commanding. "What did I tell you about coming down here? Go back to bed."
Lily flinched and shrunk back against my legs. "I wanted to be with Mom."
"Your mother needs rest, and you have school in the morning. Upstairs. Now."
"Don't speak to her like that, Patricia," I said, trying to stand up. My leg buckled slightly, but I forced myself upright, leaning heavily on the couch back. "She's my daughter."
"And you are in no condition to parent her!" Patricia walked across the room, taking Lily roughly by the wrist and pulling her away from me. "Look at you! You can barely stand! You're dragging her into your trauma!"
"Let go of her hand," I commanded, my voice dropping into the ice-cold register I used when commanding troops under fire.
Patricia froze, startled by the authority in my tone, but she didn't release Lily's arm. "You think you still call the shots here? You've been gone for over a year! Mark and I have run this house! You come back broken, demanding, causing scenes—"
"This is my home!" I shouted, the fury I had been suppressing finally exploding. "I bought this house! I bled for the money that paid for it!"
"You gave up your right to this home when you chose your career over your family!" Patricia hissed back.
Suddenly, Mark entered the room, wearing sleep pants and a t-shirt. He looked exhausted, angry, and completely unsympathetic. "What the hell is going on down here?"
"Your wife is screaming at me in front of Lily," Patricia said, instantly shifting into a tone of wounded innocence. "She's unstable, Mark. Look at her. She's throwing a fit because I tried to send Lily to bed."
"Clara, stop it!" Mark yelled, turning on me. "I told you we couldn't do this tonight! You're out of control!"
"I'm out of control?" I gasped, incredulous. "Your mother is telling my daughter I'm broken and sending me away! She's wearing my mother's jewelry!"
"I don't care about the damn jewelry!" Mark stepped into my space, his eyes blazing with resentment. "You come back here with your limp and your attitude, acting like you own the place! You've been a ghost for fourteen months! We built a life without you, Clara! You are an outsider here!"
"Mark..." The word was barely a whisper. The pain in my heart eclipsed the physical agony in my leg.
"Get out," Mark said softly.
I stared at him. "What?"
"I said get out. Take your military bags and get out of my house. You're disturbing Lily, you're disrespecting my mother, and I won't have it."
"Mark, it's two in the morning! It's pouring rain outside!"
"Then go to a hotel!" he spat. "You have your Army money, don't you? Take your cane and leave."
"Dad, no!" Lily wailed, trying to pull away from Patricia, but Patricia held her tightly, pulling her back toward the stairs.
"Go upstairs, Lily!" Mark barked without looking at her.
Patricia dragged the crying girl up the stairs. Lily's cries echoed down the hallway: "Mom! Mom! Don't leave!"
Mark grabbed my duffel bag from the hallway and shoved it toward me. He opened the front door, letting the frigid, wet wind surge into the house.
"Leave, Clara. Before I call the police and have you removed for domestic disturbance."
I looked at my husband—the man I had loved for twelve years, the man I had written letters to from dirt trenches and medical wards—and saw nothing but a stranger with ice in his veins.
I grabbed my cane. I hoisted my duffel bag onto my good shoulder.
"You will regret this, Mark," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. "I swear to God, you will regret every second of this night."
"Goodbye, Clara."
He shoved me out onto the porch and slammed the heavy wooden door shut. The deadbolt clicked into place.
May you like
Outside, the storm raged. The rain fell in sheets, instantly soaking through my jacket, freezing my skin, and turning the concrete steps into a slick death trap. I took one step, my cane slipped on the wet stone, and my compromised leg collapsed beneath me.
I fell down the steps, crashing hard onto the mud and gravel of the driveway, as the storm howled around me.
