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I was twenty-four, newly promoted, exhausted in the way only field exercises can create. Two weeks of mud, diesel fumes, and sleep stolen in fragments. I hadn’t showered properly in days. My hair was frizzed beyond saving. My boots were stained with the kind of grime that never fully comes out.
And I was happy.
I was coming home.
Darren worked late downtown, the ambitious professional with the polished office and the polished smile. I wanted to surprise him. I imagined his face lighting up when he saw me standing there in uniform, pad thai in hand, smelling like earth and effort.
His favorite meal sat in the passenger seat, warm and fragrant. I believed, truly believed, that he was my safe place. In a life ruled by structure and hierarchy, he was supposed to be the soft landing.
