Chapter 3

The credit agent' s words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Thousands of dollars?" Sarah repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

The agent, a Mr. Henderson, nodded grimly. "Several cards, ma'am. Maxed out. Payments overdue for months."

Her mind raced. During the fog of her TBI, Brenda had often "helped" her with finances, suggesting online purchases, new accounts. Sarah, easily confused and suggestible, had gone along.

Now, the full weight of that manipulation crashed down on her.

From outside, she heard voices. Neighbors.

"Looks like trouble at the Turners' again."

"Heard she was shoplifting earlier. Now debt collectors? That poor Captain."

Brenda, who lived just down the street, appeared as if summoned, her face a mask of false sympathy.

"Oh, Sarah, what's happened now? Is everything alright?"

She addressed the neighbors more than Sarah. "Poor Mike. He tries so hard, but she just keeps dragging him down. He deserves so much better. He should just divorce her and be done with it."

The other military spouses murmured in agreement, their eyes filled with pity for Mike and disdain for Sarah.

Public humiliation. Again.

Just then, Mike' s car pulled up. He got out, his face like stone.

He took in the scene: Sarah pale and trembling, the credit agent at the door, Brenda and the gossiping neighbors.

Mr. Henderson stepped forward. "Captain Turner? Perhaps you can help with this. Your wife's debts..."

Mike didn't say a word. He reached into his wallet, pulled out his own credit card – his emergency card, Sarah knew, the one with a high limit he kept for true crises – and handed it to the agent.

"How much to clear the immediate overdue balance and stop legal proceedings for now?" His voice was dangerously calm.

Mr. Henderson named a figure that made Sarah gasp. It was a significant portion of Mike's savings, she was sure.

Mike just nodded. "Take it. Send any further correspondence to me directly."

The agent, surprised but efficient, processed the payment.

Once he was gone, Mike turned to Sarah. He didn't yell. He didn't even look at her.

He simply took her arm, his grip firm, and pulled her inside the house.

The door slammed shut, cutting off the murmurs of the crowd and Brenda' s triumphant smirk.

Inside, the air crackled with unspoken anger.

Sarah opened her mouth to thank him, to explain, but he held up a hand, silencing her.

"Don't," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Not one word, Sarah. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear your excuses, your promises, your explanations."

He walked to the small kitchen counter and slammed his palm down.

"If I hear one more word out of you about how you've changed, or how it wasn't your fault, or how you're going to fix things, I swear I will lose my mind."

His eyes, when they finally met hers, were filled with a chilling combination of fury and exhaustion.

Sarah flinched as if struck. The threat was implicit but clear. He was on the very edge.

She pressed her lips together, nodding mutely.

He stared at her for a long moment, then turned and left the house again, the slam of the door echoing his rage.

Sarah sank onto the sofa, tears welling. He hadn't just paid the debt; he'd taken on the burden, silencing her in the process.

She felt trapped, not by walls, but by his absolute refusal to see her, to hear her.

Later, when she dared to venture into the kitchen, she found a small pile of groceries on the counter – bread, cheese, some fruit. And a few twenty-dollar bills tucked beneath an apple.

He had left them for her.

Despite his anger, despite everything, a part of him still cared enough to ensure she wouldn't go hungry.

It was a tiny, almost insignificant gesture, but to Sarah, it was a lifeline.

A flicker of hope ignited in her chest. He wasn't completely lost to her. Not yet.

The next morning, Sarah woke with a new determination. She had to prove her capability, not just to Mike, but to herself. And she needed to earn money to pay him back.

She remembered her grandmother's recipes for artisanal bread and pies. She'd always loved baking.

An idea sparked. The local farmers market.

She spent the day baking, the familiar rhythms of kneading dough and preparing fillings soothing her frayed nerves.

The small kitchen filled with the warm, comforting aroma of cinnamon, apples, and fresh bread.

By late afternoon, she had a respectable array of goods.

At the farmers market the next day, she set up a small table.

To her surprise, people were drawn to her baked goods. She made a few sales.

Then Brenda appeared, a smug look on her face.

"Well, well, Sarah Miller, trying to earn an honest dollar? Or just trying to look busy before the next disaster?"

She raised her voice for the benefit of the other vendors and military spouses milling about.

"Heard you' re in a mountain of debt. Is this how you plan to pay Mike back for bailing you out? Selling a few pies?"

Sarah felt a flush creep up her neck, but this time, she didn't shrink.

Her mind was clear. Her memory was sharp.

She smiled sweetly at Brenda. "Actually, Brenda, I was just thinking about all that debt. It' s funny, isn' t it? How most of it was for things you encouraged me to buy? Those 'investment opportunities' you were so keen on?"

She turned to the other spouses, her voice calm and clear. "Brenda was so helpful when I wasn't... well. She even offered to manage my finances a few times. Said I was too confused to handle it myself."

A few onlookers exchanged glances. They knew Brenda. They knew her reputation for stirring trouble.

"And all those 'loans' she gave me," Sarah continued, her gaze fixed on Brenda, whose face was now losing its smugness. "I' m finally clear-headed enough to remember I never asked for them, and I certainly don't know where that money went, though Brenda seemed to be sporting a lot of new clothes around those times."

Brenda spluttered, "That' s slander! You' re just trying to deflect from your own irresponsibility!"

"Am I?" Sarah asked gently. "Or am I finally seeing things as they really are?"

The crowd was silent, watching. Brenda, usually so adept at public shaming, found herself on the receiving end. Humiliation warred with anger on her face.

She turned and fled, her "concerns" forgotten.

Sarah let out a shaky breath. She' d done it. She' d stood up for herself.

She looked up and saw Mike standing at the edge of the market, watching. He' d clearly witnessed the end of the confrontation.

Her heart leaped. Maybe now he' d see...

But his expression was unreadable, his eyes still wary.

He walked over, not to her stall, but to a nearby fruit vendor.

Then he came to her, placing a twenty-dollar bill on her table. "For groceries," he said, his voice flat.

"Stay out of trouble, Sarah. No more public scenes."

He turned to leave, then paused. "I'm going on a short field exercise for a few days. Don't leave the house unless it's an emergency. I don't want any more calls about you."

Before she could protest, he was gone.

She stared after him, the twenty-dollar bill feeling like a brand.

He still didn't trust her. He thought she was just better at arguing, better at causing scenes.

Later that evening, when she tried the front door, she found it locked from the outside.

He had locked her in.

Panic flared. She had deliveries to make from the market sales, people who were counting on her.

She had to prove her reliability.

She remembered Timmy, the neighbor's son, who was fascinated by locks and gadgets.

She found him playing in his yard and, with a desperate plea and the promise of a freshly baked pie, convinced him to help.

Timmy, small and agile, managed to jimmy the simple lock on the back door.

Sarah thanked him profusely, grabbed her delivery basket, and hurried towards the base gate.

She was just about to exit when a military police car screeched to a halt in front of her.

Two MPs got out.

"Sarah Miller?" one asked, his voice stern.

"Yes?"

"You're under arrest."

Arrest? For what?

"Brenda Hayes has filed a complaint against you for assault. And the civilian police have a warrant for your arrest regarding debt evasion and harassment of creditors."

Brenda. Vengeful, manipulative Brenda. She' d twisted everything.

Sarah felt the world tilt.