Chapter 6
Ryan stared at his phone, his face white.
Megan’s post had been up for six hours.
It had 120,000 likes.
45,000 shares.
20,000 comments.
Every single one of them was about him.
*What kind of man leaves his pregnant wife bleeding?*
*Lock him up and throw away the key.*
*His mother is just as bad—she raised him to be this selfish.*
*I hope that baby girl pulls through. She deserves so much better than her dad and grandma.*
Ryan scrolled through the comments, his hands shaking. People had found his Facebook profile. They were posting on his wall, calling him a monster, a wife beater, a baby killer. His boss from the construction company had called that morning, firing him. "I can’t have your name associated with my business," he had said. "Clients are canceling contracts left and right."
His friends had stopped answering his texts.
Even his cousin, who he had bailed out of jail three times, had blocked him.
"This is her fault," Margaret said, slamming a mug of coffee on the kitchen table. She was scrolling through her own phone, her face purple with rage. "She’s using her military connections to get bots to comment. This is all fake. We’re going to sue her for defamation. Ten million. Twenty million. She’ll be begging us to take it back."
Ryan didn’t answer.
He was standing in the middle of the master bedroom of the house he thought he owned. The house Megan had paid for.
The general’s team had come that morning with a court order. They had changed the locks. They had given Ryan 24 hours to pack his things and get out. "The house is Ms. Hayes’ separate property," the process server had said. "You have no legal right to it."
He was packing a duffel bag, grabbing his clothes, his old football trophies, the TV he had bought before the wedding. Every time he opened a drawer, he found something of Megan’s: a pair of her old combat boots in the back of the closet, her dog tags on the nightstand, a stack of her military awards in a box under the bed.
He picked up the stack, flipping through them.
Bronze Star.
Purple Heart.
Three Army Commendation Medals.
A citation for "extraordinary heroism" during a mission in Afghanistan, signed by the Secretary of Defense.
Ryan’s throat went dry.
He had known Megan was in the Army. She had told him that much, before they got married. But she had said she was a "desk jockey," a paper pusher who never left the base. He had never imagined she was a war hero. He had never imagined she had been shot at, had killed people, had saved lives.
She was so much stronger than he had ever given her credit for.
So much stronger than him.
"Ryan! Are you listening to me?" Margaret yelled, standing up from the table. "I said we’re going to the press tomorrow. I’m going to cry on camera. I’m going to tell them Megan is a violent, unstable military wife who has PTSD, who abused you for years, who is keeping our granddaughter from us to punish us for no reason. People will believe me. I’m a grandmother. Grandmothers don’t lie."
Ryan dropped the medals back in the box.
"Mom, stop. It’s not going to work. Everyone saw her post. Everyone saw the photo of Lila. They know we’re lying. We should just apologize. Beg her to forgive us. Maybe she’ll go easy on the charges—"
Margaret slapped him again.
Harder this time.
Ryan’s lip split. He tasted bl00d.
"Don’t you ever say that again," she hissed. "We do not apologize. We do not beg. That woman ruined our lives. She took everything from us. We are going to take everything from her. If I have to lie, cheat, and steal to do it, I will. You are my son. You are going to stand by me. Or are you going to be a coward like your father was?"
Ryan froze.
His dad.
He barely remembered him. He had left when Ryan was five. Margaret had told him his whole life that his dad was a weak, worthless man who had run away because he couldn’t handle being a husband and father. She had raised Ryan alone, working two jobs, making sure he had everything he wanted. She had always told him that family came first. That no one else would ever love him as much as she did.
That he owed her.
Everything.
"I’m not a coward," Ryan said, his voice shaking. "I’m with you, Mom. Always."
Margaret smiled, wiping the bl00d from his lip with her thumb.
"That’s my good boy. Now finish packing. We’re going to stay at my house until this is over. And tomorrow, we’re going to war."
Ryan nodded, turning back to the closet.
But as he stuffed his clothes into the duffel bag, he felt a cold knot in his stomach.
May you like
He had a terrible feeling they were going to lose.
And when they did, Margaret was going to make sure he took all the blame.
