39. Thirty-Nine
Thirty-Nine
BEN
M y phone flashes to the home screen with a definitive beep. Lena hung up on me. I deserve it. It was a dumb question, anyway. You okay?
Of course, she isn’t.
I’m not, either.
After she left, I fell apart. Knowing I couldn’t face Ruthie or anyone, I texted Becca to watch her and took off running. Soon, sweat hid my tears as the miles moved under my feet. I pushed myself, hoping my heart would explode with the effort.
I didn’t have a destination in mind—just wherever the sidewalk took me.
But on the other side of Wilmington, I came to a huffing stop in front of my former residence—the craftsman cottage I bought after Lauren, a fixer-upper to focus my energy.
It’s where I spent seven years getting my life back together, where I planted roots for the first time in my adult life, where Lena and I spent our first night together.
Memories swirl like a home movie projected in front of me.
Us walking up the sidewalk after a strange discussion about sharks and gators.
Me asking her at the first step if she was sure she wanted to spend the night.
Her hopping up a step in the affirmative before asking me the same.
Me taking all the steps at once to assure her I was.
Then, me coming clean about my scars at the doorstep, suddenly fearful and nervous that she’d recoil at the sight and change her mind.
She didn’t. And that night, I told her what I’d wanted to say for ages. I loved her.
I stare at the house, noting the differences from when I owned it—a swing set in the yard, an unfamiliar car in the driveway, plants across the front porch, and a cat sunning in the front window.
I put it on the market as soon as Lena and I moved into the barn house, and it sold the same week.
I had zero hesitations signing it over— that’s how confident I was in us.
The money went to Ruthie’s college fund, our savings, and Saddletree’s farming vehicles.
I said all in , and I meant it.
Then, I considered my relationship with Lena a delicate operation that needed care and precision. I showed up, built her trust, and eased us together slowly. She was my heart’s mission. Merging our lives together marked that mission successful.
Only my commitment came with limits. I helped her through her anxiety, uncertainty, and grief without showing her my own, making me a hypocrite from day one.
I hate that I was never truly all in with her like I wanted. Like she was with me.
Lena’s right. I’ve fire-bombed my marriage to escape my fears and self-loathing, to get small and minimize my pain. But it’s done the opposite. I’m Godzilla, bulldozing over what we’ve built, the monster in me taking over.
From the sidewalk, I called Dr. Reese for an emergency session. I talked her through everything that had happened. And during the ten-mile walk back to Becca’s, she guided me through my self-hatred toward the truth.
That day in Afghanistan and its aftermath.
Almost missing Adam.
The return of the Rileys.
Lena’s accident.
I distorted these events into one singular, crippling fear—that luck runs out. And when it does, it takes every good thing with it.
I subconsciously set out on a mission of preemptive destruction. And I succeeded. There is no coming back from this.
Now, still staring at the screen as it goes dark, that reality hits me even harder. She gave me her heart, and I blew it up. And it’s too late to save it.