After the divorce, I dragged my broken body to a small coastal town in the South.
New identity. New phone.
Everything connected to Fort Bragg severed, clean and complete.
They all thought I was dead.
Dead in that brutal murder case that rocked the entire base.
For three solid years, white daisies never stopped appearing at my grave.
Until one day, someone pushed open the glass door of my coffee shop—an old acquaintance.
He looked at me in shock and asked why I hadn't come back if I was still alive.
Did I know that Major Jameson Carter had been living with crushing guilt over me, that he'd nearly taken his own life?
Jameson Carter was my ex-husband.
He had a rival in the military—someone he'd been competing with for over twenty years.
They'd made a pact: neither of them would marry. They'd keep competing until they were old men.
But Jameson fell for me at first sight. After years of relentless pursuit, he finally convinced me to marry him.
Riley Hayes hated him for breaking their promise, and she took all her rage out on me.
The first time, Riley lured me into a live-fire training zone. I stepped on an active mine. Every bone in my body fractured, internal bleeding, ten days in the ICU.
Jameson pulled every string he had, flew in the world's top specialists, dragged me back from death's door.
The second time, she dumped me in the middle of the Mojave Desert and ordered me to walk home.
Jameson forced the cancellation of field exercises, deployed an entire reconnaissance unit, three days and nights of non-stop searching. They finally found me on a desolate stretch of sand, severely dehydrated and in shock.
That's how it went—she hurt me, he saved me. Back and forth, again and again.
Until the ninety-ninth time.
Riley learned from Jameson that I had a severe hazelnut allergy.
She ground ten pounds of hazelnuts into powder and force-fed them through a feeding tube directly into my stomach. I went into anaphylactic shock immediately.
Before they rushed me to emergency, I used my last bit of strength to beg Jameson to call the police.
He just shook his head helplessly.
"Baby, we're not going to hold this against her."
"Riley's a war orphan. She's got security issues. Competing with me is the only thing that makes her feel alive."
"She didn't know your allergy was this severe. She was just messing around—she didn't really want to hurt you. For my sake, let's just let this one go, okay?"
In that moment, my heart died completely.
The next day when I woke up in the base hospital, the first thing I did was call General Carter—Jameson's grandfather.
I knew he'd always thought my ordinary background wasn't good enough for his grandson with his brilliant future. He'd wanted me gone for a long time.
"General Carter," my voice was eerily calm. "I agree to divorce Jameson."
Silence on the other end, then the General responded decisively: "Good that you've come to your senses. I'll have the divorce papers sent over. Just sign them. I'll handle everything else. Once the divorce is finalized, don't appear in front of Jameson again."
Not long after I hung up, his aide appeared in my hospital room, respectfully presenting a divorce agreement.
I signed my name stroke by stroke, tears blurring my vision as memories of Jameson flooded my mind uncontrollably.
Three years of marriage. He'd been devoted, attentive to every detail.
Except when it came to Riley. With her, he had no boundaries at all.
The first time we met, Riley threw my military working dog—the one I'd raised for six years—into a live-fire range. She blew him to pieces right in front of me.
I begged Jameson through my tears to hold her accountable. He just held me and said, "Emma, Riley's just immature. She's not a bad person. You're okay, that's what matters."
After that, time after time. Ninety-nine incidents of harm, all dismissed by him like they were nothing.
Now I was finally ending this relationship with my own hands.
My fingers trembled as I gripped the pen, tears splashing onto the signature line of the divorce papers, spreading across the page.
I took a deep breath and carefully signed "Emma Sullivan."
The aide collected the papers and gave me a slight nod. "Mrs. Carter, once the divorce certificate is processed, I'll deliver it personally. Until then, please keep this confidential."
After he left, the hospital room fell into a terrible silence with only me in it.
Soon, the door opened again.
