Chapter 2: The Bombshell in the Glovebox

1.

I found the visa in the car. I always keep some cash in envelopes, just in case—old habit. That Monday morning was pure chaos: burnt toast, the hum of cartoons drifting from the living room, backpacks half-zipped. Somewhere outside, a neighbor’s dog barked as I tried to scrape together quarters for the parking meter and mentally tallied my grocery list. My fingers brushed the edge of something stiff—definitely not cash. The envelope crinkled as I pulled out the unfamiliar document, heart thudding in my chest.

It was a visa. For Ukraine.

My mind reeled. Ukraine? Everyone knows it’s a war zone these days—who the hell would go there now? It felt like I was holding a live grenade, hidden among crumpled receipts and stray bills.

There were some thin sheets of paper in the envelope, too. I pulled them out—my hands shaking. A job offer letter and some identity documents. Every page spelled it out: "Derek Miller."

Derek Miller. My husband. Twelve years together, a six-year-old son, a three-year-old daughter.

The offer letter was brutally clear: starting next month, Mr. Derek Miller would begin as chief engineer at the group’s Ukrainian office. Five-year term.

It was already the twenty-fourth. That meant, at the latest, my husband would be on a plane to Ukraine by the end of the month.

And all of this—his wife, me—I knew nothing.

When I threw the visa in front of Derek, his face went instantly pale.

He started to tremble, and before I could say a word, he rushed over to Ava, who was building a Lego tower by herself. "Ava, come here, Daddy will play with you. That’s not how you build it."

He’s not stupid—he knows I’d rather eat glass than drag the kids into our fights. And with his parents in the next room, I had no chance to get him alone.

For days, he made sure to keep busy: playing with Ava, putting Ethan to bed, chatting endlessly with his parents. Every time I tried to talk, he slipped away.

It wasn’t until the night before his flight that he finally handed the kids off to his parents and came to sit, silent, at the edge of my bed. He just stared at me, eyes heavy with guilt or maybe just exhaustion.

The room felt cold and tight, every unsaid word crowding the air. We started dating at twenty, married at twenty-three, fifteen years of history between us. For the first time, I realized the man I loved could be this selfish.

He finally spoke, voice low. "I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. But Nat, I can’t just walk away from this."

I rehearsed what I’d say a hundred times on my drive home, but when I saw his face, all the words tangled up inside me. I snapped, "So what am I supposed to do? Take care of two kids by myself, and your parents too?"

He rubbed his eyes, looking worn. "Just hang in there, Natalie. Think of it as for me, for the kids. After I come back, everything will be different. At the very least, I’ll be promoted to assistant vice president. I’ll have fifteen days of vacation a year and I promise I’ll come back to see you all. As for salary, I’ll get paid by both the company here and the one overseas."

His words sounded like a script he’d practiced for days. It stung all the more.