Ten years later, at a reunion of comrades-in-arms, the company commander suddenly asked me, “Shari, do you still hate Major General Bert for hiding the fact that he was married for five years?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I stopped hating him a long time ago. After all, if I hadn’t left the wrong person, I never would have met my current husband.”
As I spoke, I casually showed the wedding ring on my finger, then pulled out wedding invitations and handed them to everyone present.
“I’m getting married next month. All of you must come celebrate.”
The moment those words left my mouth, the private dining room fell silent. Every eye turned to the man who had just crushed a glass in his bare hand.
His eyes were bloodshot, as if he wanted to devour someone. Even so, I was surprised to see him lose control like this.
—
After all, back then, in the fifth year of our long-distance relationship, I had secretly gone through the discharge process and traveled more than two thousand miles to San Antonio, hoping to surprise him and marry him.
When the veteran at the reception desk heard I was looking for Bert, he gave me a strange look.
“Major General Bert is in a strategy meeting. Please wait in the reception area first.”
I was secretly shocked. Bert had never mentioned being promoted.
Just last week, during a video call, he had complained about the heavy burden on his shoulders and how slim his chances of promotion were. How had he suddenly become a major general?
As I turned around, I heard two sentries whispering.
“This must be the woman Major General Bert is keeping on the side, right?”
“She’s got some nerve, showing up at the Military District.”
“If word gets out that Major General Bert is cheating, won’t Ms. Zott tear this whole place apart?”
I was about to turn back and explain that they were mistaken—that Bert wasn’t married, and that I was his girlfriend of five years.
But before I could say a word, a woman in a crisp military uniform walked in, her posture straight and commanding.
The sentries immediately fell silent and snapped to attention.
“Colonel Zott.”
She was on the phone, her voice soft and sweet.
“Honey, I’m downstairs. Didn’t you say you were taking me to my prenatal checkup today?”
A man’s voice came clearly through the receiver, low and familiar, so familiar it felt carved into my bones.
“I know. The meeting’s almost over. Go wait for me in the reception room.”
I had listened to that voice for five years.
It was Bert.
My purse slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.
As I crouched to pick it up, a paper drifted to my feet. It was a prenatal report.
Thirteen weeks pregnant.
And in the line marked father’s name, it clearly said: Bert Hale.
For months, Bert had kept telling me he was swamped with military duties, so busy he could only call once a week. One time, when he had finally agreed to video chat, I had noticed a red mark high on his collar.
He had explained it instantly.
“I got scraped during training. Shari, after all these years, have you ever seen another woman around me?”
I had believed him.
I had even apologized for being too sensitive.
And now he was someone else’s husband.
Someone else’s baby’s father.
Colonel Zott took the report from my hand and gave me a polite nod, as if apologizing for the inconvenience. When she saw me still standing there, frozen in place, she asked, “You here to see Bert too?”
I nodded.
“Then come up with me. My husband always loses track of time when he’s in meetings.”
My husband.
Those two words felt like a blade sliding straight into my chest.
In the reception room, she introduced herself. Her name was Sylvia Zott, daughter of the commanding general of the Southern District, and the district’s chief staff officer.
“My husband is stubborn,” she said with a small smile. “He always says he’s busy, but every time I have a prenatal appointment, he still makes time to come with me.”
She lowered her eyes to the report in her hand, smiling even more.
“He’s been working overtime lately. Says he wants to earn enough to spoil the baby. We already have more than enough, but he still comes up with nonsense like that just to make me happy.”
I tightened my grip on my purse until my nails dug into my palm.
Bert had told me he was just an ordinary officer.
He used to complain that promotions were almost impossible, that the pressure was crushing, that long-distance love was hard, that the timing for marriage just wasn’t right yet.
So after completing one last major assignment at the end of that year, I had submitted my discharge application without telling him. I had come all the way to San Antonio to get our license and finally start a life together.
Then a set of firm footsteps sounded outside the door.
A few officers passed by the reception room, all greeting Sylvia respectfully.
“Colonel Zott, waiting for Major General Hale again?”
And then Bert walked in.
The men beside him laughed and teased him.
“Major General Hale, your wife’s here to check up on you again.”
Sylvia went to him naturally and slipped her arm through his.
“Honey, what kind of meeting takes this long?”
He lowered his head, kissed the top of her hair, and coaxed her gently. “It ran late today. My fault. Next time I’ll be quicker.”
Then he looked up and saw me.
The smile on his face froze.