My wife left us for a better life.
I had looked at that photo more times than I could count. I had it folded in the breast pocket of my uniform for the entire flight home, and I had taken it out so many times the crease had gone soft.
I hadn’t told my wife, Mara, or my mother about my leg.
Mara and I lost two pregnancies, and I watched what those losses did to her each time. When the injury happened during my final deployment, I made the call not to tell her.
She was pregnant. And the pregnancy was holding. I could not put that at risk by delivering news that would frighten and grieve her while she was still so fragile.
I hadn’t told my wife, Mara, or my mother about my leg.
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