Chapter 3

A strange and chilling scene unfolded in my living room. Miller turned to Sarah, his charming smile gone, replaced by a look of cold annoyance.

"What is he still doing here?" Miller asked her, his voice low, as if I were a piece of furniture. "I thought you were handling it."

Sarah's demeanor shifted instantly. The pleading, tearful wife vanished. In her place was a woman I'd never seen before, her expression hard, her voice sharp.

"I am handling it," she snapped back at him. "You showing up here isn't helping, Marcus."

I watched them, a silent observer in my own home. They were arguing like any married couple, their long-practiced rhythm of conflict on full display. The pretense was gone. They didn't even care that I was standing right there.

"Well, handle it faster," Miller said, glancing at me with contempt. "I don't like him being here. It's... untidy."

Sarah let out an exasperated sigh. Then she turned to me, her face softening again, the mask of the caring wife sliding back into place. It was a dizzying, terrifying transformation.

"Liam, honey, you look exhausted," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "You've had a major shock. The doctor said you need to rest. Why don't you go lie down? I'll bring you one of your pills. It will help you sleep."

The pills. The powerful painkillers the VA prescribed, the ones she managed for me. The ones that left me groggy and disconnected. How many times had she used them to keep me placid, to keep me from looking too closely at the cracks in our perfect life?

The thought sent a chill down my spine. But I saw an opportunity.

"Yeah," I mumbled, playing my part. "Yeah, I think you're right. My head... it's all fuzzy."

I let my shoulders slump, my eyes glaze over. I leaned heavily on the wall, a perfect picture of a broken, confused man.

Sarah's expression relaxed. She was back in control. "That's right, honey. Just go upstairs. I'll be up in a minute with your medicine and some water. We'll sort all this out tomorrow, when you're feeling better. I promise."

She was promising to continue the lie.

I nodded mutely and turned, dragging my bad leg up the stairs. Each step was a performance. I could feel their eyes on my back. I didn't look back.

I went into our bedroom-her bedroom-and lay down on the bed, my clothes still on. I left the door cracked open just enough to see a sliver of the hallway. I regulated my breathing, slowing it down, making it deep and even. I closed my eyes, but I was more awake than I had ever been.

A few minutes later, Sarah came up. She moved quietly into the room, a glass of water and a small white pill in her hand. She stood over me for a long moment. I could feel her gaze on my face.

"Liam?" she whispered.

I didn't move. I continued my slow, rhythmic breathing.

Satisfied I was asleep, or close to it, she placed the pill and the water on the nightstand. "Sleep well," she murmured, a hint of something unreadable in her tone. Then she turned and walked out, pulling the door almost completely shut behind her.

I waited. The silence in the house was heavy, charged. Then, I heard their voices begin to drift up from the kitchen below. They were keeping their voices low, but sound travels in a quiet house.

I slipped off the bed, my movements silent, practiced from years of training. I crept to the top of the stairs, my heart pounding. I lay flat on the landing, my ear pressed against the floorboards, right above the kitchen. Their words became clearer.

"Is he out?" Miller's voice was sharp.

"He will be soon," Sarah replied. "He took the pill."

I hadn't, of course. It was still on the nightstand.

"Good," Miller said. "We need to talk. This is a mess, Sarah. Him finding out... it complicates things."

"I told you this was a bad idea, letting him live here," Sarah's voice was bitter. "We should have put him in a facility years ago."

A facility. Like a stray dog. The casual cruelty of her words was like a physical blow.

"It was necessary," Miller countered. "His presence gave the foundation legitimacy. 'The tragic hero Liam Hayes, cared for by his devoted wife and his former CO.' It was a good story. It made people open their wallets."

"Well, the story is over," she said. "Now what? He knows, Marcus. He knows about us, the money..."

"He knows a fraction," Miller scoffed. "He doesn't know about the charity, not really. He doesn't know where the money is actually going. And he certainly doesn't know about Daniel."

Daniel. A name I didn't know. A cold knot formed in my stomach.

"Don't you bring my son into this," Sarah's voice dropped, becoming fierce.

"Your son?" Miller laughed, a low, ugly sound. "He's our son, Sarah. And he happens to be a very useful piece of leverage. Let's not forget, you were the one who got pregnant. You were the one who came to me, desperate, after you found out he was being sent back to that hellhole."

My blood ran cold. The timeline clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Her son... our son... was not mine. He was Miller's. The child I had believed was mine, the one she told me was conceived during my last leave... it was all a lie. The most profound lie of all.

"I was scared," Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. "You said you would take care of us."

"And I have," Miller said smoothly. "I gave you a life of luxury. I put my name on his birth certificate. All I asked for in return was a little cooperation. Access to your husband's... benefits. It was a fair trade."

"And what happens now?" she asked, her voice small.

"Now, we accelerate the plan," Miller said, his tone chillingly practical. "We have enough in the offshore accounts. We move the last of his pension funds, we dissolve the foundation, and we disappear. We take Daniel and we go somewhere new. Start fresh."

"And Liam?" Sarah asked.

There was a long pause. I held my breath.

"He's a loose end," Miller said finally, his voice devoid of any emotion. "And loose ends need to be tied up. Permanently. He's a decorated veteran with severe PTSD and a history of chronic pain. A tragic overdose... no one would question it."

I felt the floorboards vibrate as he must have moved closer to her.

"Don't look at me like that, Sarah," he murmured. "This is the only way. For us. For Daniel. You know I'm right. You've known it for a long time."

I didn't hear her reply. I didn't need to. Her silence was its own answer.

I pushed myself back from the floor, my mind reeling. A secret child. A plot to steal my money. And now, a plan to kill me.

The pain in my chest was so immense I thought my heart would burst. But beneath the pain, a cold, hard resolve was crystallizing. They weren't just going to take my life, my honor, my past. They were going to erase me.

I crept back into the bedroom and grabbed my phone. I saw the pill on the nightstand, a small white symbol of their treachery. I flushed it down the toilet.

Then I went to my closet and pulled out a small, dust-covered duffel bag from the very back. My old go-bag. I started packing. Not clothes. I packed a burner phone, a roll of cash I kept for emergencies, a multi-tool, and a small, high-fidelity recording device I'd kept as a souvenir from my former life.

They had a plan.

It was time I made one of my own.