Page 2 of Pretend I’m Yours
But things began to change. Two years into my second enlistment, we began to fight even when I wasn’t home. Anna Marie didn’t feel like she was seeing me enough. She refused to understand that I was once again signed into service, and I was going to have to live out my commitment to the Navy.
It became stressful to hear from her, and I started replying to her emails less frequently. I didn’t call her as often as I could have, and I didn’t prioritize video chats back home. I wanted her, but I couldn’t handle the stress of fighting with her while I was overseas.
I swore to myself I would fix things when I was home, and the time couldn’t pass fast enough. I made promises to my wife, telling her that things were going to work out between us. I would make damn sure of that. She would get to be a model, and she would be happy.
But, as time wore on, I started to notice that she wasn’t reaching out to me as often as she could, either. She would let my emails sit for over a week before sending me something short and trite in reply. She didn’t prioritize me, and I began to worry.
My best friend, Charlie, had promised me that he would make sure Anna Marie was alright while I was gone. He was the son of a prominent banker in the city, so he had his career laid out for him from the cradle. I trusted him with everything I had; I thought he was a good man.
When I asked him about my wife, he’d often assure me that she was doing just fine. She was doing her best to work and audition for gigs, and he did what he could to treat her to a dinner or a movie every so often. I was grateful to him for it.
I didn’t like the idea of my wife sitting at home for eight years while she waited for me to get out of the Service.
When I was finally free, I headed home as fast as I could. I had spent enough time away from my wife, and I wanted to start our lives together in the same place. I had no intention of ever getting back into the military, and I hoped that we were finally financially secure enough that she would be able to focus solely on modeling.
I didn’t mind finding another job to help us get by. As long as we had the money in the bank from the time I spent in the desert, I knew we’d be fine. It would be the boost we needed to get through the early years of our careers, and we’d get to finally see our dreams come true.
But I came home to emptiness. Anna Marie wasn’t the only thing missing, either. As I looked through our little studio, I could see that there were a lot of her things missing as well. It was as though she had packed her bags and gotten out of there quickly, perhaps as soon as she heard I was coming home.
I’d wanted to surprise her and called her when I was just an hour away. I’d wanted to give her enough time to get ready for a nice evening out on the town, telling her that I was taking her out as soon as I got back.
She was out, alright, but it looked to me like she didn’t have any sort of intention of returning.
It didn’t take long for me to learn the truth. She and Charlie had been having an affair for over a year, and she was done with me. He had money, and he could help her achieve her dream. He clearly didn’t care that she was a married woman or that I was his best friend who had trusted him, and the two of them were moving in together into his penthouse in another part of Chicago.
I was crushed. All my dreams, all the hard work that I’d done, was gone. It didn’t matter that I’d spent all that time in the Service, I had nothing to come home to. The entire reason I had joined in the first place had run away with my best friend, and I was left to face life alone.
Devastated, I went back to the only thing I’d really known in my adult life. I joined for another four years, only to be shot two years in. The bullet had come close to my heart, and I’d spent more than two months in the hospital. Unable to return to duty after that, I was discharged with honors, but once again sent back to Chicago.
I’d been back in town a week, and I had to admit, I was sick of living in a hotel room and out of a duffle bag. My wife was gone, my best friend was gone, and I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t want to stay, either.
