Mission (Aftermath #1)

7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Will

P hoebe sits cross-legged on the bed beside me, her stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm and her new animal book open in her lap. She’s reading aloud with such enthusiasm it almost makes me forget the ache in my leg and back. Almost.

“And the cheetah,” she announces dramatically, pointing to the page, “is the fastest animal on land. It can run really, really fast. Faster than a car!”

“Faster than my BMW?” I tease, wincing slightly as I adjust my position.

She giggles. “Way faster, Daddy. But only for a little while. Then it gets tired.”

“Sounds like me these days,” I say with a crooked smile.

She doesn’t laugh this time, her little brow furrowing as she studies the page. Then she closes the book carefully and looks up at me, her big, serious eyes locking onto mine. “Daddy,” she says softly, “what happened to you?”

The question lands with a weight I’m not entirely prepared for, but I should’ve seen it coming. Phoebe’s sharp—always has been. She asks a lot of questions, sometimes too many.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Well,” I begin slowly, “I was in a truck with some other people, and there was a big landslide. That’s when a lot of rocks and mud come down a mountain really fast. The truck got hit, and we couldn’t stop it.”

Her eyes widen, her hand gripping her rabbit tighter. “Were you scared?”

“A little,” I admit, keeping my voice calm. “But I knew I had to be brave. The people with me helped a lot, and then some very smart doctors fixed me up so I could come home to you.”

She nods slowly, her mind working through the details. “But you’re still hurt.”

“I am,” I say gently. “But I’m getting better every day. And having you here helps a lot.”

Her face softens at that, but then she frowns again. “Why do you have to do a job like that, Daddy? Can’t you do something else? Like... like being a teacher or a bin man?”

The question brings on a familiar wave of guilt, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. Before I can think of an answer, a movement in the doorway catches my eye. Katie is standing there, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed. She’s watching us, her expression unreadable, though her eyes are softer than usual.

Phoebe follows my gaze and brightens when she sees her mum. “Mummy, I was just asking Daddy why he can’t have a different job. ”

Katie steps into the room, her voice gentle. “That’s a big question, Love. But right now, it’s time to get ready for bed.”

Phoebe pouts. “But I want to stay with Daddy.”

“You can see him again tomorrow,” Katie says firmly. “Now, go brush your teeth and get into your pyjamas. I’ll be in to tuck you in soon.”

Phoebe sighs dramatically but obeys, sliding off the bed and clutching her rabbit as she heads toward the bathroom. “Night, Daddy!” she says before hugging me.

“Night, Firecracker,” I reply, kissing her gently on her forehead. She gives me a last little wave, then sprints out of my room. It's a simple moment, a routine moment, just saying goodnight… but it means the world to me.

The smell of Katie’s cooking fills the room, warm and comforting—roast chicken with rosemary and garlic, one of her specialties. My lap tray is balanced across my knees, the plate of food perfectly arranged in a way that screams Katie. She’s always been meticulous, whether it’s organising Phoebe’s school projects or plating up dinner.

Since I was discharged from hospital a week ago, we've settled into a neat routine. Every morning, Katie takes Phoebe to school before heading to her job as a receptionist at the estate agent. After her shift, she comes back to my home and starts prepping dinner. Later, she picks up Phoebe from school, and while Katie finishes cooking, Phoebe does her homework with me. When dinner is ready, the three of us gather in my bedroom, sharing a meal together like a family.

Now Phoebe is sitting cross-legged on the floor beside my bed, a tray perched in front of her as she chatters away between bites. Something about the characters in the book she’s reading, mixed with random observations about her day. I try to follow along, nodding and making the right noises, but most of my attention is on Katie.

She’s sitting in the chair by the window, her own tray balanced across her lap, picking at her food as she listens to Phoebe with half a smile. She’s beautiful in that effortless way she’s always had—her golden blond hair pulled back, no makeup, just her.

Phoebe finishes her meal in record time, wipes her mouth on a napkin, and springs to her feet. “I’m gonna go play in my room!” she announces, already halfway to the door.

“Don’t forget to tidy up before bed,” Katie calls after her.

“Okay, Mummy!” Phoebe’s voice echoes back before her door clicks shut.

The room feels quieter without her, though the warmth of her presence lingers. Katie sets her tray aside, leaning back in the chair with a sigh.

“You didn’t eat much,” I say, gesturing toward her half-empty plate.

“I’m not that hungry,” she replies, brushing it off. Then she looks at me, her expression softening. “How’s your pain today?”

“Manageable,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie. The painkillers help, though they leave me a little foggy. “Your cooking might be the best medicine. ”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Flattery will only get you so far, Will.”

“Worth a shot,” I say, grinning back.

For a moment, the room feels lighter, almost easy. But then her smile fades, replaced by a more serious look. She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees.

“You know,” she begins, her voice quieter now, “after the divorce, I thought it would get easier. The worrying, I mean. I told myself that stepping back from your life—your job—would help. That if I wasn’t part of it anymore, I wouldn’t spend every waking moment terrified that something might happen to you.”

Her words hit like a punch, and I swallow hard. “Katie—”

“But it didn’t,” she continues, cutting me off. “It didn’t stop. It never does.” She looks at me, her eyes sharp but tinged with something softer—sadness, maybe. “I still worry, Will. Every time I hear about something dangerous in the news, every time Phoebe talks about how far away you are. It’s like this... weight that doesn’t go away.”

I set my tray aside, ignoring the twinge of pain in my leg as I shift to face her better. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low. “For all of it. For putting you through that, for... not being what you needed me to be.”

She shakes her head, her laugh soft but bitter. “It’s not about what you were or weren’t, Will. You’ve always been... you. Stubborn, brave, trying to keep everyone safe. I knew what I was signing up for.”

“That doesn’t mean it was fair to you,” I say. It feels like we've had this conversation a hundred times, and we probably have. To anyone looking in, our problems might seem simple. People have asked me why I don’t just quit the job—but then what? I’m ex-army; it’s all I know. And people have told Katie she’s not the only one with a husband in a dangerous job. True, but that doesn’t make it any easier for her. It’s so easy to judge from the outside. But those people aren’t us. They’re not me, and they’re not Katie. And somehow, back then, it all felt so much more complicated.

She looks at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t all bad, either. We had good times, didn’t we?”

“The best,” I say without hesitation. “You and Phoebe... you were everything.”

Her lips curve into a small smile, but there’s a sadness behind it. “I guess that’s why it’s so hard. Why it never really stopped hurting.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s being honest in a way we haven’t been with each other in years, and it stirs something deep in me. Something I’ve tried to bury.

“You should rest a bit,” she says.

“You know,” I reply after a moment, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m starting to think you’re just here to boss me around. You’ve always been good at that.”

Her laugh is genuine this time, soft and warm. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“I’m injured, Katie,” I say, feigning indignation. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Oh, I’m being very nice,” she says, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You should see how much restraint it’s taking not to lecture you about overdoing it every time you try to move without help. ”

“See? Bossy,” I tease, though my grin fades slightly as I meet her gaze. “But... thank you. For being here. For everything.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stands, picking up my tray and stacking it with hers. “I should check on Phoebe,” she says, her voice carefully neutral.

I watch her leave, the door closing softly behind her, and let out a long breath. The room feels emptier without her, and I’m left with the lingering ache of things left unsaid.