Chapter 9: The Choice

In the past two years with John Carter, I’d grown less tolerant. I gasped, almost crying from the pain.

My eyes blurred, but I forced myself to stay upright. The old me would have swallowed the hurt. Now, I let myself feel it.

"Zach!" Michael Quinn stood up, his gaze sharp. Zach seemed frightened, helplessly staring at the blood on my hand.

Michael Quinn helped me up, bending as if to carry me on his lap to tend the wound.

He moved with surprising gentleness, a shadow of the man I once knew. His hand hovered at my waist, uncertain.

I quickly pulled away, clumsily pressing the embroidered handkerchief to my palm. "No need, Mayor. It’s just a small wound. It doesn’t hurt. I’ll take care of it at home."

My pride stiffened my spine. I met his eyes, daring him to challenge me.

The atmosphere froze. After a long silence, Michael Quinn let go of me, his expression unreadable.

He was too proud a man to ask me to stay.

At dawn, as I wished, I left the mayor’s house. The cold bit at my cheeks as I stepped outside, the city smelling of wet concrete and fresh donuts from the corner bakery. The SUV sped along, and some porcelain shards were so fine that picking them out made me break into a cold sweat.

The city was waking up, trucks rumbling down the street, the scent of bakery bread in the air. I pressed a clean rag to my hand, holding it above my heart as the pain faded.

At home, I was glad Ben had gone to school early and wouldn’t be upset about my injury.

But as soon as I turned, I saw John Carter leaning against the door, his tall figure standing in the morning light, still in his Army uniform, travel-worn.

His duffel bag slumped at his feet. The sight of him—boots scuffed, eyes tired but kind—made my throat tighten.

Without a word, he picked me up and carried me inside. My injured hand rested on his shoulder and began to ache. My eyes reddened, and I gently buried my head in his embrace.

He set me gently on the old couch, tucking a blanket around my shoulders. His touch was steady, anchoring me to the here and now.

For a moment, I let myself lean into him, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat quiet the storm in my chest.

The morning fog slowly cleared outside the window.

Sunlight crept through the blinds, painting stripes across the living room. I watched John Carter half-kneel to re-bandage my hand, I was afraid I’d cry, so I changed the subject: "Why are you back so early? Is the rotation done?"

He unwrapped the bloodied handkerchief, hands careful but sure. The scent of antiseptic mixed with the faint smell of his aftershave. John Carter was silent for a while, then said that the soldiers from the Northside Base might soon be transferred to Fort Sunning.

Sunning?

The name was unfamiliar, but I could tell by his face it was far from home. The Northside Base had always been the chief of the city’s four main posts, essential for guarding Chicago. Why was it suddenly being reassigned to the northwest?

John Carter was discreet. Since this involved city hall business, he could not explain much, only saying it might be related to Michael Quinn.

He met my gaze, his eyes dark and troubled, as if apologizing for secrets he couldn’t share.

But thinking about it, I could guess most of it.

The governor had come to office young, relying heavily on Michael Quinn, and struggled repeatedly to consolidate his own power. Now that the governor was in his prime, and with Senator Quinn in the north secretly supporting him, it was likely he wanted to begin curbing Michael Quinn’s influence by moving the troops.

I’d heard the rumors—at the laundromat, in line at the DMV. Chicago politics was a blood sport, and the powerful always found new ways to keep their rivals in check.

John Carter wasn’t worried about this. By regulation, soldiers like him could bring their families to the northwest. But the conditions there were harsh, with biting wind and endless snow; he feared Ben and I wouldn’t adapt.

He traced a finger along the scar at my hairline, worry etched deep in his brow. "It’s not easy up there. Winters are long."

If we stayed in Chicago…

John Carter looked at the wounds on my hand and forehead, his brows deeply furrowed.

I knew what he was worried about and told him, "A family should always be together."

No matter how hard life was in the northwest, with him by my side, I was not afraid.

He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me with a fierceness that made me feel unbreakable. For the first time in days, I let myself relax.

John Carter looked at me deeply, then suddenly embraced me tightly, his broad chest trembling with a low, muffled sound.

"I’m sorry."

His voice was thick with regret. He had not fulfilled his promise of peace and comfort when he married me.

I shook my head. Without him, I would have died on that snowy night two years ago. He gave me shelter from the wind and snow, a home where I no longer feared being cast out. That was enough.

I pressed my lips to his cheek, whispering, "Home is where you are. That’s all that matters."

That evening, when Ben learned we would go to the northwest as a family, he was overjoyed. Though the date wasn’t set, he rummaged through boxes, muttering about which books to bring.

He made a list—comic books, a photo of the three of us, his lucky charm. He even insisted on packing his winter boots, just in case.

When saying goodbye to his friends outside, he cheerfully said, "Dad, Mom, and I are leaving. In the future, I won’t be able to help you with your homework anymore."

The other kids crowded around him, begging for one last game of kickball. I leaned on the porch railing, heart full and aching.

I smiled softly, going out to call him back for dinner.

The sky was streaked with orange and purple, the streetlights flickering to life. The smell of cornbread drifted from Mrs. Lewis’s kitchen.

Suddenly, someone tugged my sleeve from behind. Startled, I turned around.

In the early spring dusk, Zach had snuck out of the house wearing only a hoodie, grass still clinging to his hair. Hearing Ben’s words, his face was pale, his sick, reddened eyes shimmering with tears.

He looked lost, like a boy who’d wandered too far from home and wasn’t sure how to get back. The sound of his voice, fragile and trembling, caught me off guard.

"You’re leaving?" Zach’s voice trembled. For the first time, I heard something in him I’d never heard before—fear.

For a moment, the whole city seemed to hold its breath—fireworks long gone, all that remained was the hush of a boy’s longing and the promise of a future still unwritten.