A Soldier’s Fall, A Husband’s Rise From Ruin

“The same outfit that you used to get these ready for me five years ago, too.”

“So?”

Calmly, I met her eyes and didn’t look away.

“Don’t act strong in front of me. All these years, I only hoped you could live well, not like this.”

Like what?

In the glass of the car window, my own reflection appeared.

A simple training outfit, heavy boots and a small bag packed with groceries.

I looked like a regular family member barely managing her daily costs.

However, compared to the past, when I had to keep myself perfect every day, this was not so bad.

Not annoyed, I smiled.

“I thought it was okay.”

For a moment, her expression shifted slightly. “Archie, you really were different from before.”

“Yes, many people told me that.”

After saying that, I went upstairs, never turning back.

I pushed open the door to my fifth-floor apartment. The room looked the same as it had the year before.

Next to the old TV sat a picture of my mother in her military uniform; the candle in front of it had long gone out.

I lit three sticks quickly, tied my apron and stepped into the kitchen.

Three dishes and one soup were placed on the table in a short time. Across from me sat a bowl of untouched rice.

Slowly, I ate.

“Mom, today I ran into Charlotte.”

“Don’t get angry yet. Your son couldn’t be pushed around by her. And I wasn’t as stupid as before.”

Only the loud wind outside the window answered me.

With no desire to eat, I put down my utensils and walked into my room, taking out an old photo album.

“Look how tough you were back then. Staring at pictures all the time really was dull.”

Before I even opened the album, a picture slid to the floor.

I bent down to pick it up. The picture showed Charlotte, Alexander and me.

Three young faces smiled brightly at the camera.

I had dragged the two of them to stand in the center, smiling the biggest, my right cheek still holding the marks from training.

That was the summer when I was thirteen.

Debt collectors came to the house of the Morales family to cause trouble.

The neighbors shut their doors and windows and even my parents didn’t dare get involved. But I moved forward.

The stick that should have struck Charlotte instead landed straight on my face.

My cheekbone was crushed and I spent the entire summer healing.

Heartbroken, my mother ordered me to stop seeing the Morales family.

Until Grace Morales, dragging her injured leg, knelt at our door and thanked us over and over.

She softened.

For the next ten years, our dinner table always had a pair of utensils and a bowl set aside for Charlotte and she always got a share of new clothes during holidays.

When she wasn’t busy, she helped Grace run the small store and when someone came making trouble, she could shout at them so coldly that they didn’t dare come back.

They called each other sisters.

But no one imagined that the younger sister who once tripped over her words would end up in the bed of her older sister’s husband.

When I returned home, everything inside had been smashed apart.

My mother stood in the center of the ruins, crying hard, with clear handprints on her face, while my father stood in front of Grace behind him.

“Let’s end the marriage. You can take everything, I only want Grace.”

Beside me stood Charlotte, who hurried to pull Grace away, but my mother slapped her twice.

I pushed her aside, watching her fall to the floor, staring at me in disbelief.

In that moment, tears were falling then, but I still said the most painful words.

“Mom, why did you slap Charlotte?”

All those mixed memories stay stuck in this tiny photo.

After I divorced Charlotte, I burned everything tied to her, but one photo still slipped through.

Just as I was about to toss the photo into the trash can, a knock sounded at the door.

Thinking it was Caroline, the neighbor who always brought apple pie around this time, I opened the door.

But I saw Alexander holding Charlotte’s hand.

He laughed loudly. “Archie, long time no see! After all these years, you haven’t changed at all.”