Not all of the days without John were good even when they should have been.
The invitation to Charles' homecoming party was a lifeline.
Charles was a family friend, a Marine finally coming home after a brutal deployment. His family was throwing a party. Barbecue, drinks, a celebration of survival and reunion. My family was going. Everyone was going. I should've been excited.
Instead, I felt a knot of dread in my stomach the moment I told John.
"Who's Charles?" His voice was sharp, suspicious.
"A family friend. A Marine. He just got back—"
"A Marine? Of course." His laugh was bitter, twisted. "So you're going to some Marine's house to party without me?"
"No, John, it's not like that. My whole family will be there. My mom, my dad, all my siblings—"
"Your whole family? Or are you just using them as an excuse?"
The knot tightened. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I should've kept my mouth shut. But I was tired of hiding. Tired of pretending I didn't have a life beyond his shadow.
"I'm going, John. It's not a date. It's a party. A homecoming. He just got home. He's my friend."
"Your friend," he spat, his voice thick with disdain. "Sure. I bet he's thrilled to see you. I bet you couldn't wait."
"John, please. I haven't seen him in over a year. He just got back. Everyone's going."
"Everyone, huh?" A long, venomous silence. "You want to go so bad? Fine. Go. But don't forget who you belong to. You'll be tested."
"I just worry because I love you so much."
I didn't even know what that meant, but I felt the threat in his voice. A promise wrapped in a warning.
Charles' homecoming party was everything it was supposed to be. Laughter, hugs, the smell of grilled burgers and sweet tea. Charles was smiling, surrounded by family, a flicker of life in his eyes despite the fresh wounds of his own brutal divorce. The Patriot Guard, those proud, leather-clad motorcycle riders. Arrived in a thunderous roar, presenting a flag and offering their thanks, a beautiful moment of honor and brotherhood.
But I couldn't enjoy it. Not really. Because I was waiting.
And right on cue, my phone buzzed. John's name flashing on the screen like a summons.
I didn't even have time to swallow my bite of food before I answered. Because if I didn't answer right away, the storm would be worse.
"Where are you?" His voice was a blade, sharp, demanding.
"Um… at the party. Eating." I tried to keep my voice steady, cheerful, but the anxiety twisted tighter.
"Sure you are." The accusation was thick, poisonous. "You're probably off with him right now, aren't you? You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I— John, my whole family is here. Marie's right next to me. You can talk to her if you want."
"Marie is a liar. She'd cover for you."
"John, it's not just her. Everyone is here. Mom, Dad, Lynn—"
"Lynn might not lie for you. The rest of them would."
I felt my throat tighten, a sick, twisting ache rising beneath my ribs. Around me, the party kept going. Laughter, hugs, the warm glow of homecoming joy. And I was standing on the edges, one foot in his shadow.
Then the Patriot Guard began their ceremony. A line of motorcycles revving, the rumble of engines drowning everything else. Cheers, clapping, Charles standing proud, the flag held high.
"Where the hell are you?" John's voice was a roar against the noise. "What's going on? Who are you with?"
"It's— I can't— it's the Patriot Guard," I stammered, pressing a hand to my ear, trying to hear him over the roar. "They're honoring Charles. I can barely hear you."
"Of course you can't. I bet you're sneaking off. I bet you're with him right now, laughing at me, thinking I'm an idiot—"
"I'm going to the car," I whispered, panic clawing at me. "I'll call you back, I just—"
"No. Don't you dare hang up."
So I didn't. I slipped away, ducking between parked cars, the cold air biting at my cheeks. I climbed into the passenger seat of our car, slamming the door, the quiet almost suffocating.
"Better?" I whispered, trying to steady my breathing.
"I just love how you're having so much fun without me," he sneered. "Bet you're smiling. Bet you're all dressed up. Bet you're his perfect little date."
"John, please, it's not like that."
"I want you to stop lying. I want you to stop acting like an attention whore."
My stomach twisted, a hot, sick ache spreading beneath my ribs. "I'm not… I'm not…"
"I just worry, you know? I can't help it. I love you so much, and I know how these parties can be. All those soldiers, all those… temptations. I just wish you'd think about what you're putting me through."
The minutes dragged on, his voice a relentless storm, accusations, insults, twisting every word I tried to say. I was trapped. Caged in that car, clinging to the phone, trying to explain, trying to defend myself, trying to make him believe me.
But you can't convince someone who's already decided you're guilty.
Finally, the line went dead. His phone time ran out. Silence. But not peace.
I climbed out of the car, walking back toward the house. The laughter and cheers washed over me, warm and welcoming, but I felt like a ghost. Disconnected. Hollow.
I didn't even know if I wanted to go back inside. I didn't know how to pretend I was okay. But then I felt a hand slip into mine, warm, steady, comforting.
"Was that John?" Marie asked when I returned.
"Yeah, he just wanted to say hi."
Marie. She didn't say anything. She just squeezed my hand, her eyes full of quiet, knowing sympathy.
For a moment, I wanted to tell her everything. Wanted to pour out the fear, the shame, the helpless anger twisting in my chest. But I couldn't. Because what could she do? What could anyone do?
Instead, she just squeezed my hand, and I held on like a lifeline.
Together, we walked back to the party. I smiled, I laughed, I pretended.
But I was still trapped. Because no matter how far I ran, his voice was always there. The leash stretched, but it never broke.