Five years. That’s how long it had been since I’d divorced Ryder Croft, the ghost I thought I’d finally laid to rest. And then, there he was, standing in the doorway of the rehearsal hall for the Joint Service Commendation Ceremony. The security guard, in the middle of checking my credentials, straightened up, his tone shifting from professional to familiar. “Captain Croft! Good to see you, sir.” Ryder gave a slight nod, his gaze landing on me, a current passing through the space between us. “She’s with me,” he said. I politely cut him off, pulling my own laminated pass from my pocket. “No need. I have my own clearance.” His eyes dropped to the ID in my hand. For a moment, he was silent. “Anya,” he said, his voice low. “It’s been all this time. You’re still angry with me.” I offered a small, empty smile and said nothing. My mind was already occupied by the man who would be receiving his award tomorrow. There was no room for anyone else. 1 After the rehearsal, I packed up the dress uniform I needed to take home, slung my tote bag over my shoulder, and headed out. The early autumn wind whipped up dust from the parade ground, stinging my eyes as I walked toward the on-base shuttle stop. By the time I’d rubbed the grit from my eyes, Ryder’s black government SUV had pulled up in front of me. He noted the redness rimming my eyes, his brow furrowing. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” “Not necessary. I’ll take the shuttle.” His gaze swept over me, from my combat boots to my practical fatigues, finally settling on the tote bag slung over my shoulder. His voice softened. “How have you been these past few years?” “I’ve been great.” Ryder clearly didn’t believe me. “Get in the car, Anya.” The shuttle behind us honked its horn, but he didn’t move an inch, creating an impasse. Under the curious stares of other personnel, I finally relented and pulled the passenger door open. “Three Miller Road,” I said, giving the address to the old base housing. The air in the car thickened. When Ryder finally spoke, his voice was strained. “You’re still living there? They zoned that whole sector for demolition years ago. And you’re all alone, with….” He trailed off, but I knew exactly what he was leaving unsaid. It was where my mother died. Ten years ago today, she had refused to attend my wedding to Ryder Croft. Instead, she jumped from her tenth-floor window. The back seat was spacious, but the heat was cranked up too high. I pressed the button to lower my window. “You always catch a cold from the draft,” he said automatically. “You should close it. I can turn down the heat if you’re warm.” I shook my head, a real smile touching my lips this time. “That was a long time ago. I’m fine now.” Silence fell between us until his phone rang, the name flashing on the car’s infotainment screen. The call connected, and a familiar voice filled the speakers, though it was laced with a delicate sweetness I didn’t recognize. “Honey, is rehearsal over? Are you on your way home?” “Just wrapped up. Ran into Anya. I’m giving her a lift.” A beat of silence on the other end. “Anya’s back? Wow, it’s been forever. You should have said something, we should get the old gang together for dinner.” I’d known Mia for over a decade, and I’d never heard her use that soft, almost girlish tone. The Mia I remembered was quiet, head-down, completely absorbed in her tactical cartography. The Mia I knew would just cry in private when someone with better connections stole her spot in the national competition. It was me who had smashed that person’s sand table in front of the entire company, me who had written letters of complaint all the way up the chain of command until they gave Mia her spot back. It’s true what they say. Being cherished really does bring a person to life. “It was just a chance encounter,” Ryder said. “She has plans. I’ll be home after I drop her off.” “Even a chance encounter is fate! What’s wrong with treating an old friend to dinner?” “Mia. Don’t start.” The line went silent. Ryder was always gentle when he was trying to coax someone, but when he made a decision, nothing could change his mind. Mia, of all people, should have known that better than I did. The call ended abruptly. Just then, the SUV pulled up in front of the old housing complex. “Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door to get out, but his voice stopped me. “Anya, can I ask? The dress uniform you picked up… who is it for?” “My husband.” Ryder rubbed his forehead and let out a bitter laugh, as if he thought I was just saying it to spite him. “It’s the same regulation uniform. You used to prep mine just like that, five years ago.” “And?” I met his gaze, my expression perfectly calm. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. All these years, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. Not… not like this.” Like what? My reflection stared back at me from the tinted window. A standard set of fatigues, combat boots, a tote bag filled with groceries I’d picked up. I looked like any other military spouse, worn down by the daily grind. But compared to the woman I used to be, the one who felt she had to be perfectly polished at all times, this version of me wasn’t so bad. I smiled, feeling no anger at all. “But I am happy.” A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “You really have changed, Anya.” “Yeah,” I said. “A lot of people say that.” I turned and walked toward the building without a second glance. Inside, I climbed the five flights of stairs and unlocked the door to my old apartment. The layout was exactly as it had been last year. My mother’s official military portrait sat beside the old television, the incense in the burner long since turned to ash. I moved on autopilot, lighting three new sticks and tying on an apron before heading into the kitchen. I soon had a simple meal on the table—three dishes and a soup. Across from me, I placed a bowl of rice that would go untouched. I ate slowly. “Mom,” I murmured to the empty room. “I saw Ryder today.” “Don’t get upset. He can’t hurt me anymore. Besides, I’m not the fool I used to be.” The only answer was the wind howling outside the window. My appetite faded. I put down my chopsticks, went into the bedroom, and pulled an old photo album from a dusty box. “Look at how commanding you were back then,” I said to the portrait. “Staring at a picture is so boring.” I hadn’t even opened the album when a loose photograph slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I bent to pick it up. It was a picture of Ryder, Mia, and me. Three young, smiling faces. I was standing in the middle, my arms linked with theirs, my grin the widest of all—a faint purple bruise from training still visible on my right cheek. It was the summer I turned thirteen. Debt collectors had shown up at Ryder’s house, making a scene. All the neighbors shut their doors, even my own parents were too afraid to get involved. But I ran out there. A wooden stick that was meant for Ryder’s back came down hard across my face instead. A fractured cheekbone. I spent the entire summer recovering. My mother, her heart aching for me, forbade me from seeing Ryder ever again. That lasted until Ryder’s mother, dragging her injured leg, knelt on our doorstep, thanking us over and over. My mother’s heart softened. For the next ten years, there was always a place for Ryder at our dinner table, always a new set of clothes for him at the holidays. When Mom wasn’t busy, she’d help Ryder’s mom at her small convenience store, and she had a tongue sharp enough to scare off anyone who came looking for trouble. They called each other sisters. But no one ever imagined that the timid, stuttering “little sister” would one day climb into her “big sister’s” husband’s bed. I came home to find our apartment destroyed. My mother stood in the ruins, sobbing, a bright red handprint stark against her cheek. My father stood protectively in front of the other woman, Helen. “Let’s get a divorce,” my father said, his voice flat. “You can have everything. All I want is Helen.” Ryder, who was with me, rushed to pull his mother away, but my mom slapped him twice, hard. I shoved my own mother. She stumbled backward and fell, staring up at me in disbelief. Tears were streaming down my face, but the words that came out of my mouth were the cruelest I’d ever spoken. “Mom, what gives you the right to hit Ryder?” That chaotic memory, frozen forever on this small, glossy square. After my divorce, I burned everything that had to do with Ryder. I thought I’d gotten it all. Apparently, one piece of evidence had survived. I was about to toss the photo into the trash when a knock came at the door. Assuming it was Mrs. Gable from next door, who always brought over dumplings on this anniversary, I opened it without thinking. It was Mia, her arm linked through Ryder’s. Her smile was radiant. “Anya! It’s been so long! You haven’t changed a bit.” She turned to Ryder. “See? I told you she wouldn’t mind. Sorry for dropping in unannounced, Ryder was just too stubborn to call first.” I looked at them, my expression unreadable. “I’m not going to invite you in. What do you want?” Mia’s smile faltered, and she looked up at Ryder with a wounded expression. “Mia wanted to see you,” Ryder said, his voice a low rumble. “She brought a gift. We mean well.” He placed a gift box on the small table by the door. Mia immediately launched into her explanation. “I’ve been using this skincare line, and it’s amazing. I thought you might like it too. We always used to share these kinds of things, remember?” I glanced down at the box. It looked like the same brand my housekeeper used. “That photo…” Mia started, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. “Anya, after all these years, you still haven’t let it go.” I crumpled the photograph in my fist and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “You’re overthinking it.” She reached out as if to take my hand, then hesitated. “I know you’re still hurting. If you two were still together, today would have been your anniversary.” Her voice was thick with performative sympathy. “I had no choice back then, you know that. If you’ve really moved on, then let us take you to dinner. And if you’re struggling with anything, please tell us. We’re old friends, after all.” My immediate instinct was to refuse. But then, one of the incense sticks on the altar for my mother suddenly flared, letting out a sharp pop. I smiled and changed my mind. “Alright.” In the car, Mia’s chatter intensified, as did her little gestures of affection. While we were stopped at a red light, she uncapped her lip balm and gently applied it to Ryder’s lips with her finger. “Honestly, I have to remind you every winter. Last time you kissed me too hard your lips started bleeding. You never learn, do you?” Ryder caught her wrist, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Stop it, Mia.” “Oh! I completely forgot Anya was here. You don’t mind, do you, Anya? Ryder and I are just so used to…” I cut her off with a placid smile. “Of course not.” My voice was even. “I’ve already seen the two of you naked and tangled up in bed together. This is nothing.” The car fell into a dead silence. Finally, some peace and quiet. I stared out at the passing scenery, thinking that if my mother were still alive, she’d be stunned by how much the city had changed. My father’s determination to divorce her for Helen had nearly driven her mad. My decision to secretly marry Ryder was the final blow that took her life. At first, I only hated my father and Helen. Their betrayal had transformed my mother from a formidable, respected officer into a paranoid, weeping wreck, time cruelly eating away at her spirit. Later, I came to hate myself. After my mother’s funeral, during what should have been my honeymoon, I requested a temporary assignment to a remote border posting and stayed there for a month. Back then, the only person I didn’t hate was Ryder. To me, he was a diamond in the rough, a resilient soldier who had overcome a difficult past. Before I left for the border, I asked Mia to look after him. And she did a wonderful job. She cooked for him in our new apartment in the base’s family housing, whipping up impressive four-course meals that looked and smelled delicious. I was genuinely grateful to her. In that year, the three of us grew even closer. Ryder treated me better than ever. He spent his entire first commendation bonus on a tactical watch I’d been wanting. For my birthday, he arranged a city-wide fireworks display. Every time he came back from a field training exercise, he would cancel all his meetings just to be with me. I never once doubted him. I believed he loved me to the bone. Until one day, by chance, I went to his office alone. The door to his private break room was slightly ajar, and I heard… sounds. I pushed the door open. Two naked bodies, entwined. The image was a bayonet stabbing into my eyes. A scream tore from my throat. He moved like lightning, pulling a sheet over the woman beneath him. “Who told you to come in here?” he roared. “Get out!” I went berserk, grabbing anything I could find and hurling it at them. Blood trickled from a cut on Ryder’s temple, but he never stopped shielding the woman in his arms. I destroyed everything in the room I could get my hands on. But I couldn’t bring myself to get any closer to them. These were the two people I had loved most in the world. Fear seized my heart, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Mia,” I managed to say. “Look at me.” The woman, her face swollen from crying, struggled out from under the sheets and knelt before me on the floor. “Anya, I’m so sorry.” “Ryder and I… we shouldn’t have, but we’re truly in love.” “Please,” she begged. “Please, just let us be together.” Her pathetic, groveling form looked so much like the first time I met her, when she was cornered by a group of bullies behind the training grounds. That was the day I, a top-ranked cadet, received my first disciplinary action for defending her. I had personally handed her my wedding bouquet, wishing for her to find her own happiness. And now here she was, in my husband’s arms, begging for my blessing. Tears streamed down my face. My voice trembled. “When did it start?” Her lips quivered, but no words came out. He answered for her. “Does it matter? Have you made enough of a scene? This is a military base, Anya, not your living room.” “Does it not matter?! Ryder! Does it not matter?!” I shrieked, my voice raw. He stood there, naked and unapologetic. “Fine! You want to know? I’ll tell you!” “It was last March, when you insisted on transferring to the border post. We got together then.” “We didn’t mean to hide it from you. But you had just lost your mother, and I didn’t want to hurt you more. So I let this marriage continue, to humor you.” “Mia has given up too much for me. I can’t let her suffer anymore. I was planning to ask for a divorce after the anniversary of your mother’s death.” “But since you’ve found out, we might as well be honest.” “Let’s get a divorce. You can name your terms. All I want is Mia.” In that single, shattering moment, I finally understood. I understood the true weight of that day I had sided with Ryder, when I had pushed my own mother away. Before the divorce was finalized, I waged a war. I took the photos I had of them in that state and had them printed, slipping copies into every company mail slot on base. I hung banners exposing their affair across the front of the main administration building. I filed a formal complaint with the Inspector General’s office about Mia’s conduct. I plastered the online forums of the National Defense University, where she was finishing her degree, with my story. At her graduation ceremony, I paid someone to loop a slideshow of all our old photos—the ones of our supposed friendship—on the main screen. The memories I had once treasured became my weapons. But Ryder protected her through it all. She graduated with honors. She was even about to have her first solo art exhibition. To clear the path for Mia, Ryder finally confronted me directly. “Mia is about to achieve her dream. Don’t you dare interfere.” By then, I was seeing red. “Interfere? I’m just getting started. I’m going to make sure everyone who comes to see her art gets to appreciate your masterpiece, too.” He threw a file on the table in front of me. “Sign the divorce papers, and stay the hell away from us. Do it, if you want your mother to have a final resting place.” When my mother was buried, I was so consumed by grief that Ryder had handled everything, including the purchase of the plot at the national cemetery. His name was on the deed. Now, he was using my mother’s grave against me. I threw my coffee in his face. That night, I slept at my mother’s graveside, crying until I passed out. The next day, I went to the legal office and signed the papers. The outcome was a final, cruel twist—Ryder only gave me the old, dilapidated apartment in the family housing complex. “You reported me for misconduct,” he said, his voice cold. “Most of my assets are frozen. This is all I can give you.” A pause. “If Mia hadn’t begged me, you wouldn’t have gotten a penny.” I could never win against Ryder. It had been that way since we were kids. He was calm, calculating, never acting on impulse. He knew how to use strategy and power to get what he wanted. I was the one who always charged straight ahead without thinking, wounding the enemy but taking the brunt of the damage myself. I gave him what he wanted. I went quiet. I sold the apartment and put in for a long-term transfer to the border. But before I left, on a whim, I went to Mia’s art exhibition. Her serene face was projected onto a massive screen in the city’s central plaza. The exhibition was titled, The Unlocking. It was a phrase we used to use in the letters we wrote to each other as teenagers. It represented the purest dreams of girlhood, the most sincere hopes of friendship. Driven by a final, self-destructive need for closure, I put on a hat and sunglasses and slipped into the gallery, feeling like a rat sneaking in to watch someone else’s feast. And then I saw the centerpiece painting. The Unlocking. It depicted two entwined bodies. I had kissed the mole on the man’s back a thousand times. The woman’s fingers were clenched, wrinkling the bedsheets. The bed had a pale green duvet cover, and outside the window, a magnolia tree was in full bloom. I had picked out that duvet cover myself. The pink blossoms swayed in the wind, a picture of tranquil beauty. It was my home. It was the place where he and Mia had first been together. So, the soul was hers, and the key was Ryder’s. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I threw up, right there on the polished gallery floor. The commotion drew the attention of the happy couple, who were greeting guests nearby. A soft voice sounded beside me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” The heart-shaped pin on her dress glittered, a perfect match for the key-shaped cufflinks on Ryder’s shirt. I lunged, ripping the pin from her chest and slashing it across the canvas. Screeeech. The sound of tearing canvas silenced the room, followed by a collective gasp. In the chaos, security guards tackled me and pinned me to the floor. My cheek pressed against the cold marble, I looked up and saw him, holding a sobbing Mia, his eyes meeting mine. He looked at me as if I were something he’d found in a sewer. “Call the police,” he said.
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