Demi
"I've been sitting in that house another for two months.
True to his word, Wilmer left for active duty. He's stationed in Afghanistan again, at least I think. He doesn't call, or write, which I understand. I went to our lawyer and got the divorce papers. Next time he comes home on leave, he'll sign them.
And then it'll be over.
It'll be me sitting here in this house, forever thinking about my marriage and what couldn't been. Forever wishing he loved me enough to come home, to want me over a life of war. I've been sitting in this house, while all I want to be doing is laying with him. I didn't want my marriage to be over, but I didn't want this life. I didn't want the constant worry of him coming home to me in nothing more than a wooden box. I never wanted to be handed a folded up flag.
So I had to choose to make him choose.
I can't help but think about how stupid I was to be so undoubtedly positive he'd pick me. After confessing his soul about what he did to get home to me, I thought he'd see that I loved him more than anything he could've done, that I loved him more than I cared about who he had killed. But now I'm alone, and so is he, and I can't stop thinking about how it's not supposed to be this way. This isn't how it's supposed to end."
"I think that's a good place to stop for the day." Across the room sat my therapist, Dr. Reardon, an older woman with kind brown eyes who somehow had the ability to make me spill my soul. "You've talked a lot, and I know you don't enjoy doing that too much."
"I don't have anyone else to talk to." I sighed. "My mom... She's in Texas, she doesn't even know he went back. Marissa, I shouldn't bother her with this. She's trying to make it in New York doing journalism."
"Maybe you need to get away." She suggested. "Take a weekend and fly to Texas or a drive down to New York... get away from everything keeping you here."
I slowly shook my head. "I don't want to leave in case he comes back. I dream about it sometimes... I walk downstairs in the morning and he's sitting there holding two cups of coffee, a smile on his face, no bullet holes in his body. It's perfect... and then I wake up."
"And if he does come back?"
I swallowed hard and looked away. "He'll never forgive me... Things will be worse if he comes back."
"Because you've kept this from him?"
"Yes." My hand came down to touch the bump in my abdomen, a three month old life growing inside. "He should know about his son. That's who he's fighting for... But there was moment. We were fighting, I asked if we could go away for our anniversary, maybe finally put this behind us. If he asked if we had the money and I told him that we did unless he wanted to start a family anytime soon." I looked up at the ceiling. "He told me Paris was a good idea. He doesn't want a family, he doesn't even want me let alone a baby. And this baby... he shouldn't grow up with a father who doesn't want him, who won't be able to show up and actually be a father. He's better off with just me."
"It sounds like you have a decision to make."
I slowly exhaled and nodded. "I do."
When I walked in the door after my therapy appointment, the phone was ringing. I sighed and dropped my purse, quickly walking over to the phone. Barely glancing at the caller ID I hit the answer button and wedged it between my shoulder and my ear, walking over to the fridge.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Demetria Valderrama?"
"This is she, may I ask who's calling?"
"My name is Maya Rivera. I'm a journalist from the New York Times. I was wondering if I could talk to you about your husband. It's amazing what he's done for our country and after his achievements... We'd like to run a cover story on him."
I closed my eyes and sighed. "I don't think... I know Wilmer, and I don't think he'd want that. He's a very private person."
"I understand, but giving everything that just happened-"
"It was months ago." I interrupted, wanting nothing more than to tell her all about the real Wilmer Valderrama, choosing his country over his wife.
"Mrs. Valderrama, have you seen the news lately?"
I grabbed the remote from the counter and turned on the TV in the kitchen. On the screen, showed a hazy video of marines scrambling on a sinking ship. One man was coming in and out, diving back into the water and pulling out marines. Slowly, my hand came up to my mouth in shock as the news anchor began to speak.
"We see on the scene last night Sergeant Wilmer Valderrama, in an act that many would consider valid for his second purple heart, jumping back into the sinking vessel to rescue his fellow trapped marines. Now this next scene is graphic, so viewer discretion is advised."
I dropped the phone as a plane came out of nowhere and artillery fire rained down, all of the men on the ship scattering as bullets rained down. The video shut off, and the new anchor took full screen.
"Sergeant Valderrama is currently at Calvary Hospital in New York, undergoing surgery for severe injuries. We'll know more by tonight, and you'll get an update then. Back to you, Mark."
Quickly I grabbed my phone, hanging up on the reporter as I dialed the number for the hospital and held my head in my hands, sinking down to the floor.
"Good morning, Calvary Hospital. How can I direct your call?"
"I... Wilmer Valderrama-"
"I'm sorry ma'am but we cannot give any patient information to reporters or journalists. We have given news outlets as much of an update as we can."
"I'm his wife." I choked out. "I'm his wife."
"Oh! I'm so sorry Ma'am. I cannot give out his information over the phone, but if you can make it down in person to the hospital, the doctors can give you a full briefing."
I hung up and ran upstairs, packing my bag then running back to the car. I threw it in drive and began the two hour drive into New York City. The parking lot was crazy, and at the front entrance, a mob of reporters stood with cameras.
"THERE'S HIS WIFE!"
"MRS.VALDERRAMA!"
"Can you give us a statement?"
"Why are you just getting here now?"
"Mrs. Valderrama! Is it true your husband was a terrorist?!"
I whirled around and glared at the reporter who yelled that at me, his eyes widened and he took a slow step back. "Absolutely not." I snarled and turned on my heel, walking into the hospital.
"Hi, my name is Demi Valderrama. I'm Sergeant Valderrama's wife." I said quickly to the receptionist. "I need to see him."
"If I could just have your ID?" The receptionist checked my license, the printed me out a visitor pass. "He just got out of surgery. He'll be in the ICU for a while, but you can see him for a few minutes, then the doctors will give you a briefing."
"Thank you."
I followed the signs for the ICU and stopped outside the doors, another nurse was standing there.
"Ma'am this area is restricted."
"I'm looking for my husband." I swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. "Wilmer Valderrama."
Her eyes widened and she nodded, opening the door for me to go inside. She led me to a room and gave me a sympathetic smile. "He's in here. He woke up a few minutes ago, but he might be asleep again.
I walked into the room and stopped in my tracks in the doorway, a low groan coming out of my mouth as I gripped the door handle for support. Wilmer looked already dead, his usually tanned skin looked sallow, like he was clinging to life with one finger. I slowly walked to his bed side, sinking into the chair next to him and taking his hand. I brought it to my cheek and stared at his face. A small twitch in his eyebrow told me he was coming around.
"Hi baby."
Wilmer's eyes fluttered open and he squinted into the light at me. "Demi?"
I ran my hand through his hair. "I'm here."
"What happened?" His voice was rough and cracked, like he hadn't had anything to drink in days. "Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital." I murmured. "Your ship went down and you started saving guys, then you got attacked, an aircraft passed and shot at you... I don't know what happened after that. I saw it on the news and came right..." I trailed off as a doctor walked into the room, his eyes crinkling up in a smile at the two of us.
"Mr. Valderrama. You gave us and your wife here a good scare. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a bus." He rasped, making the doctor smile.
"Well, you're in luck, it was only bullets, not a bus." He put Wilmer's x-rays on the monitor. "So you had two clean entry and exit points, one through your right shoulder, and the other through your right bicep. The other two were tricky. One bullet hit your lower abdomen, while the other hit your spleen, which we removed in surgery."
Wilmer's head fell back to the pillow. "How long is the recovery time?"
"About three months until you're medically cleared, and you shouldn't have any trouble walking. You can leave in a week, once we're clear of the infection period."
"And I can go back overseas?"
"I would advise against it, but yes... theoretically you'll be cleared." The doctor glanced at me. "In the meantime, focus on your recovery."
"Thank you."
The doctor nodded, then walked out, and I looked at Wilmer. "You cannot be serious."
"This is my life now, Demi."
I slowly shook my head. "It's not Wilmer..." I grabbed his hand and stood up, pressing his palm to the clear bump on my stomach he hadn't seen yet. "This is your life now."
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