Chapter 9
The line barely rings once before Aiden picks up.
“Kate. Hey. Hi.”
His voice is soft. Cautious. I don’t speak right away. Letting the silence stretch, I can hear him breathing on the other end, waiting for me to break it.
Finally, I say, “I went to therapy.”
A pause, then a little exhale. “Wow. That’s... that’s great. Really. I’ve been telling you to go for years.”
I don’t bother responding to that part. I let it hang between us, that old argument no longer worth arguing over.
“How was it?” he asks.
“Enlightening.” It’s the only word I can say. Anything more and I’ll break open. And I can’t break, not here, not with him on the other end of the line, not after everything.
There’s a pause. Just his breath in the quiet.
Then he says, gently, “I’m proud of you.”
My throat tightens. I look out at the windshield, at nothing, really. Just the way the sky hangs low tonight, how the world keeps moving even when everything in me feels still.
“Why’d you ask me out?” I ask out of the blue. Its not the first time the question has popped into my head, but it’s the first time I'm willing to hear the answer.
He doesn’t speak right away.
So I add, “Back in high school?”
He laughs a little under his breath. “Yeah, I figured that’s what you meant.”
Another breath. Then he says, “It’s gonna sound stupid.”
“I don’t care.”
He exhales like he’s remembering something so far back it lives under layers of dust. “A few days before you joined the school, people started talking. Someone saw you when you came in for admissions, and the rumours just… took off. No one had even met you, and already there were stories. Someone said you were a model who needed a high school diploma. Someone else swore you were some kind of undercover cop trying to infiltrate a drug ring.”
Despite myself, I smile. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. It was ridiculous. I didn’t get the hype. Thought, how pretty could this girl really be?”
He pauses.
“And then I saw you. You walked into the hallway like you didn’t owe anyone anything. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. Just… existing. And I thought, okay. That’s different. You didn’t talk much. Just kept your head down. And somehow that made everyone look even harder.”
I picture it. My old sneakers. My backpack hanging by one fraying strap. My quiet.
“I watched the girls side-eye you, and I watched every guy in that hallway try to figure you out. You didn’t even blink at them. And one day, in bio, the seat next to you opened up and I took it. I didn’t plan it. I just saw a chance and went for it.”
He lets out a laugh. It’s soft, but it carries something honest.
“I didn’t think you’d even notice me. But you did.
You talked to me. You smiled. And in that moment, I swear I knew.
You weren’t just beautiful. You were... real.
Kind. Smart in this way that made me nervous.
I walked out of class that day knowing I was going to ask you out.
And when you said yes, I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. ”
I close my eyes. The words settle deep.
“I still do,” he adds.
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. I just let it press against the ache in my chest.
Then he says, “How come you never asked before?”
I keep my eyes closed for a beat longer, let the moment pass through me.
Instead of answering, I breathe out slowly and say, “I want to try couples counselling.”
There’s a hitch in his breath. Then, quickly: “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do it. Anytime.”
“I can get an appointment tomorrow,” I say, then add, “But they have an individual opening today. If you can go. Just you.”
He hesitates. “Wouldn’t that be... a conflict? With yours?”
“There’s more than one therapist, Aiden,” I say. “It’s not a sitcom.”
“Right. Yeah. Of course. Okay. I’ll do it.”
I pause before I speak again, because I need him to hear it right.
“If you want this marriage to work... you have to do this for real. Not just so you can say you did it.”
His voice quiets. “I will. I promise.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “I’ll text you the details. You’ll have to call to confirm.”
“Okay.”
We sit in the quiet for a few more seconds. Neither of us wants to hang up. But there’s nothing else to say. After a few beats, I end the call before driving out of the lot, and heading back to Quinn’s.
Getting in the door, I follow the noises to the kitchen. Quinn is there wearing an apron and sautéing something in the pan. “Hey!” she says, “Your support group went long.”
I say “I went to therapy.” She looks confused. “I mean I went to the support group and they recommended a therapist. So, I came home, saw your note, made an appointment and now I'm back.”
She looks proud. “Wow. You had a busy day.”
I nod, dropping the keys on the table near the counter and leaning against the island. The smell from her pan is warm and buttery, something with garlic maybe. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten since a bowl of cereal this morning.
Quinn turns the heat down and glances over at me. “How was it? The therapist?”
I let out a long breath. “Hard. But good. I didn’t realize how much I needed to just say out loud. All of it. To someone I don’t owe anything to.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Did it help?”
“Some. He helped me make sense of... the mess. Or at least gave me permission to feel what I’m already feeling.” I pause. “I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt. We have issues that go way beyond the stripper. I deserve better. And I finally said that.”
Quinn sets the spoon down and wipes her hands on the apron. She doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, “That’s big, Katy.”
I nod. “I also called Aiden.”
Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I told him I want to try couples counselling.”
Now she really looks surprised. “You do?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what I want yet, but I figured we might need help figuring it out. And if we’re going to try, really try, then it has to be real. Not just him playing the good husband act.”
“And?”
“I told him there was an opening for an individual appointment today. I asked him to go. Told him it’s not just about us, it’s about him doing the work, too.”
Quinn crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Wow.”
“I know.”
“Did he agree?”
“He said he would. I texted him the info. Now we wait.”
She smiles, small and warm. “You’re doing good, Kate. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes but blink them back. “Thanks,” I whisper. “I really needed that.”
She turns back to the stove. “Well, sit down. I made too much pasta anyway. And you look like you need some carbs.”
I laugh softly and help her bring the plates over to the sofa.
She’s already queued something up, and I don’t even need to ask what it is.
Modern Family, my comfort show, the one I go to when my brain needs to stop spinning.
I sink into the couch and tuck one leg under me, plate balanced on my lap, the steam from the pasta curling up into my face.
“I figured we could use something light,” Quinn says, remote in hand.
“Perfect,” I murmur. “I’ve had enough revelations for one day. My emotional tank is tapped.”
Quinn navigates to the earlier seasons, “You know,” I say, twirling some pasta on my fork, “I think Phil Dunphy might be my actual spirit animal.”
Quinn laughs. “That tracks. You always go for the lovable goof.”
“He’s not just a goof. He’s… relentlessly hopeful. And weird. But in this beautiful, loyal way. He would never screw a stripper on his bachelor party.”
Quinn snorts, nearly choking on her food. “Jesus, Kate.”
I give a tired smile, but before she can pick up the remote and hit play on the next episode, I speak.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She freezes mid-reach. “What?”
“You’ve been... extra cheery tonight.” I keep my voice low. “You only do that when you’re worried.”
She exhales through her nose and sets the remote down slowly. Her expression tightens, like she hates that I can still read her that well.
Finally, she says, “I haven’t heard from Markus in a week.”
I tilt my head slightly. “But... that’s normal, right?”
“It is,” she admits, eyes flicking to the floor. “They revoke phone privileges all the time. Miss a curfew or mouth off to the wrong officer, suddenly you’re back in the damn 1800s. No calls, no messages, nothing.”
I nod, remembering how she explained all that before.
“But,” she continues, “the woman I called for the ride?”
I nod again. “Yeah, I had your car.”
“She’s… Her husband’s part of Markus’ squad. His name is Charlie. Anyway... she said she hasn’t heard from him either. Not for a week.”
My stomach drops.
“And I figured maybe it’s just the two of them. Maybe some training punishment or blackout or whatever. But I couldn’t shake it, so I called the captain’s wife.” Her eyes meet mine, wide and unblinking now. “She hasn’t heard from her husband either.”
“Oh no,” I whisper, instinctively turning toward her.
Quinn’s face is pale now, like the light’s been drained out of her. “I know it’s the army. I know they can’t just call and chat. I signed up for this. I’ve lived this. But they always tell us if there’s going to be radio silence. Always. A day, maybe two. Never longer than that without warning.”
Her eyes are glassy. She blinks fast.
“But this time he didn’t. He just… went dark.”
She stares straight ahead like she’s seeing something I can’t.
“What if they’re in trouble?” Her voice shakes. “I’ve been there. I’ve been in the middle of nowhere with nothing but dust and rifles and hope. I know what it’s like when a mission goes sideways.”
She pauses, her jaw working as she tries to keep it together.
“What if they’re out there, trapped somewhere? Bleeding, freezing, needing help and no one even knows?” Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper now. “What if… ” She stops like it physically pains her to even say it.
I don’t answer. I just reach out and place my hand over hers. Because there are no right words in moments like this.
“Maria… uh, the captain’s wife. She said she would make a few calls and get back to me. But she hasn’t. Not yet. All I can do is—”
Before she can finish, her phone rings. It’s sitting right there in her lap, lit up with Maria’s name. We both freeze and stare at it like it’s about to explode.
She finally answers. “Hello?”
I hold my breath.
There’s a pause. A long one. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I watch Quinn’s face change completely. Her expression drops, like something inside her has caved.
She doesn’t say a word, just listens, eyes fixed on nothing. Then she pulls the phone away from her ear and looks down at it like it burned her.
“She said they went on a scouting mission,” her voice is quiet, strained. “It was supposed to be two days max. But they never came back.”
My stomach drops.
“They didn’t send out a distress signal. No SOS, no radio contact. Nothing. So the army just... waited. They waited before telling anyone, because they didn’t know if it was worth alarming the families yet.”
She meets my eyes then. And hers are hollow.
“They’ve officially declared them MIA.”