“You’re back early. Sara didn’t tell me.”

That was the first thing Mark said when he walked through the back door the morning after I got home. He was wearing my old navy blue robe.

The one I bought at the PX before I deployed. It hung off his shoulders the same way it hung off mine, but it looked wrong on him. It looked like a stolen skin.

I stood there by the kitchen island. I didn’t say a word. I just watched the way he moved through the kitchen, familiar with the layout, knowing exactly where the coffee mugs were kept. He moved like a man who had been waking up in my house for a long time.

I had been back for less than twenty-four hours. My duffel bag was still sitting in the hallway where I dropped it the night before. I had spent the last three weeks dreaming about the front door. I dreamed about the sound of the tumblers clicking and the smell of the house. I didn’t dream about this.

“Yeah,” I said. My voice sounded flat, like it was coming from a different room. “I bet she didn’t.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. I had found it shoved deep into the back of the nightstand, tucked behind a stack of old magazines I didn’t even recognize. It was folded into a small, tight square.

I laid the letter on the counter. The paper was thin and cheap. I watched Mark’s eyes drop to the page. His face didn’t change right away, but his breathing hitched. Just for a second.

“That’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“Then tell me what it looks like, Mark,” I said. I felt my hands starting to shake, so I gripped the edge of the granite counter until my knuckles turned white. “Tell me why my wife flinches when I touch her.

Tell me why she looks like she’s waiting for a blow every time I walk into a room.”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the letter.

“Why is she terrified of someone?” I asked. I moved a step closer. “Why is the only other person she’s been alone with for fourteen months standing in my kitchen wearing my robe?”

The silence in the kitchen was heavy. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I remembered the night before. I had walked into the bedroom at 2 AM, exhausted and shaking from the flight. When I reached out to touch her shoulder, she didn’t turn around and smile. She recoiled. Her whole body had gone rigid, like she was bracing for impact.