Part 1The Medic's Exodus

After a night of intimacy, my battalion commander husband pulled up his pants and vanished for three days.

The next time I heard news of him, it was a celebratory announcement from military command.

Arthur Vance had been awarded a first-class merit.

Only then did I learn that his disappearance over the past few days was to rescue his childhood sweetheart.

Rumor had it that when he returned, he was covered in injuries and had nearly died.

The following day, Private Chen, a communications orderly, hurriedly pushed open the door to our base housing:

"Dr. Miller! The Commander is refusing to let us treat his wounds at the medical tent. The pain is unbearable, but he says he only wants the soothing tea you make." For Arthur, this was a rare display of weakness.

I huddled on my cot, flipping through a combat trauma care manual, and didn't even look up:

"I don't know how to make it."

Private Chen paced anxiously: "The Commander got hurt providing cover for a comrade!"

"Cover for whom? Emily Davis?" I cut him off. "She was there, wasn't she? Tell her to do it."

Over the next few days, Arthur's subordinates took turns trying to persuade me.

"Ma'am, there's no such thing as an overnight grudge between husband and wife."

"The Commander has been thinking of you constantly."

My answer remained the same: "I don't have time. Go find Emily."

...

When Arthur finally returned, it was the evening of the third day.

He stood in the doorway, his face pale, suppressing a storm of anger and confusion in his eyes:

"Chloe, are you really this cold-hearted?"

I turned to meet his gaze, my tone flat and icy:

"Isn't Emily taking care of you? Why should I go make a mess of things and be an eyesore?"

Arthur's chest heaved violently: "Are you still holding a grudge about last time?"

Holding a grudge?

I was in emergency surgery for four days. The shrapnel in my abdomen was two millimeters away from my kidney.

And in his mouth, it had become "holding a grudge."

At the time, a sudden firefight broke out at the border. As the unit's embedded medical officer, I was treating the wounded on the front lines.

A stray bullet hit nearby, and the blast wave threw me to the ground. Blood poured from my abdomen.

The comms channel was filled with the hoarse shouts of my comrades, but Arthur, who was at the command post barely a hundred yards away, never moved.

I found out later that Emily had suffered an asthma attack at the rear camp.

He abandoned the defensive line during an intense firefight, scooped her up, and rushed her to the medical tent.

A week later, I was transferred to a regular ward.

Arthur pushed the door open in his combat uniform, impatience knitting his brows:

"Chloe, are you done playing the martyr?"

He threw a bag of cold steamed buns onto the nightstand, his tone rigid. "The doctor said it missed your vitals, so stop hogging a bed. The camp is swamped; no one has the free time to orbit around you all day."

I looked down at the blood-soaked bandages on my abdomen. Every breath pulled at my nerves with a sharp ache.

Seeing me silent, Arthur's frown deepened:

"Will you only be satisfied when the whole battalion thinks I'm mistreating my wife?"

"Emily has a weak constitution; she can't handle shocks."

"You're a combat medic. You see life and death all the time. Is it really necessary to cling to a minor injury like this?"

My heart felt like it had been thrown into an ice cellar, the chill piercing my bones.

I looked up at him, my eyes as still as stagnant water.

Arthur froze. Suddenly, the two-way radio on his belt crackled to life, and Emily's tearful voice came through:

"Arthur, I think I hear movement outside the camp... I'm so scared..."

Arthur's tone instantly softened enough to wring water from it:

"Don't be afraid. Lock the door. I'll be right there."

Cutting the comms, his gaze returned to its cold, hard state when he looked at me. "Process your own discharge. Emily needs someone with her."

I lowered my eyes, staring at the bruised puncture marks on the back of my hand from the IV lines:

"Go ahead."

Arthur was enraged by my indifferent demeanor.

But ultimately, his concern for Emily won out. He turned and strode away, leaving the hospital room in dead silence.

I pulled out my IV needle and dialed the recruitment office for the International Rescue Corps.

The voice on the other end was filled with joy: "Dr. Miller, you've finally decided! The final roster for the rescue medical team hasn't been submitted yet, so there's plenty of time for you to join. But this deployment is for at least five years, stationed in active conflict zones. It's incredibly dangerous. What about your family..."

I looked out the window at the dark, oppressive clouds, a storm brewing:

"I accept. This is a personal decision and has nothing to do with my family."

After a pause, I added, "He and I will soon have no relationship anyway."

My lawyer was extremely efficient. Half an hour later, the digital copy of the divorce agreement arrived in my inbox.

Years ago, to reassure me about following him on deployments, Arthur had signed a blank agreement, giving me the freedom to leave at any time.

I twitched my lips into a cynical smile. I hadn't expected this day to come so soon.