1988 - 1992
.
.
.
Jack sat silently on the floor, his back pressed against the wall beside a small wooden cupboard, his gaze fixed on the little girl as she slept peacefully in her crib. She looked like an angel. He had entered the room as quietly as he could, carefully opening the door and creeping into his current position, not wanting to disturb her.
She hadn't stirred when he entered. She hadn't noticed him at all.
Jack's mind, however, was racing. It was as if time had spun backward, 20 years to be exact, and it wasn't Angela lying in that crib—it was Kim. The whole scene hit him harder than he had anticipated. Seeing Angela brought those memories to life with startling clarity, memories he had buried deep but now couldn't ignore. His throat tightened as the weight of it all pressed down on him.
Jack had switched off the phone and shoved it deep into his bag, as if trying to bury his emotions along with it. He had cut the call with Audrey abruptly, not because he wanted to, but because he simply couldn't bring himself to say another word. Even now, sitting in the stillness of Angela's room, a lump remained lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.
His eyes drifted to his wristwatch: 8:30 p.m. Kim and Chase could be home any minute – or in two hours. He didn't even know their exact return time. He hadn't thought to ask earlier. Then again, he hadn't expected the conversation with Audrey to shake him the way it had. But there was no escaping the emotions that had been stirred up.
Jack tried to stop the tears—he really did. But the memories were overwhelming. So he sat there, silent sobs shaking his body as he fought to cry quietly enough so that Angela wouldn't wake.
Just like 20 years ago when he had sat beside Kim's crib, doing his best not to wake her while he cried silently in the darkness.
Back then, he had offered to sleep on the couch, but sleep hadn't come to him that night. He had lain awake, his mind running in circles despite the exhaustion that weighed him down. Eventually, he had crept over to Kim's room, sitting quietly in the corner, just watching her sleep. He had soaked in those moments, convinced they might be his last with his family. Every now and then, a silent sob would escape his chest, but he fought to keep them quiet, not wanting her to wake up. Her cries would also wake up Teri. He couldn't let her see him like that, broken.
He had tried to understand Teri's perspective, had made an effort to walk a mile in her shoes. And it hurt. He could see the cracks, the pain he had caused her, how unhappy she had become because of him and the life they had chosen. They had been so naïve back then, thinking they could navigate the challenges without ever drifting apart. He thought back to those early conversations about the military, about their future—how hopeful and idealistic they had been. He was 18, on the run from his family, desperate to escape the life he had grown up in. Teri had been just 17, barely more than a child herself, and blinded by love. She hadn't seen where the path would take them, when she had told him she'd be okay with him joining the ROTC programme.
The night in 1988 had been one of the hardest of his life. By the next morning, Teri had woken up and announced that she wanted to go to church—with him and Kim. Jack despised going to church. It wasn't something they always did, but when they did, it felt performative, like they were putting on a show for everyone else. Neither of them were religious, but they went because it was expected to show up there, at least twice a month. During the past months, Jack had evaded it, blaming it on his injury why he wasn't going.
He had stood in front of his closet that morning, debating whether to wear his uniform or plain clothes. In the end, he chose plain clothes. Wearing his uniform would have been too much, like twisting the knife in Teri's gut. He wasn't trying to make things worse.
The moment they had arrived at church, it became clear to him what this was. Teri was making a statement. She had heard the rumors from Heather—rumors about how well Jack had been getting along with the women at the base. Whether or not she fully believed them, this was her way of letting everyone know: He's mine. At least for now.
During the service, Jack barely listened to the priest. Instead, he found himself staring at the backs of people's heads. Samantha and her husband, Captain Harrison, were seated a few benches ahead of them. Jack hadn't seen him since his return from Panama, but the man's presence brought a fresh wave of shame washing over him. He and Samantha had exchanged a fleeting, secretive glance on their way into the church, but said nothing.
After the service, they had gone to the playground with Kim. And for the first time, Jack experienced what he would later call "playing happy couple." They acted normal. Talked about normal things. They even made small talk with the other families, with people asking Teri how Italy had been. Jack had expected Teri to talk about Florence with excitement, but instead, she was rather quiet. He could tell she felt judged, guilty even, for having left Kim for so long. She didn't share the highlights of her trip like he thought she would. Instead, she just repeated how much she had missed Kim and how she couldn't wait to come home.
Once they were back home, the "happy couple" act continued. Teri cooked. They ate together. But Jack could tell neither of them had much of an appetite. The tension was still there, hanging in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
When Kim had finally been put down for an afternoon nap, all pretense disappeared. The act was over, and they were left with the reality of their crumbling relationship. The weight of it all was suffocating.
Jack had wanted to run. He would have given anything to escape—to head to the gym, or even one of those dreaded training exercises Major McKinney often ordered. Hell, he would have rather faced the enemy again, jumped off that waterfall all over again, if it meant avoiding the pain he felt now. Anything would have been better than this.
He sighed deeply, wiping away the tears that had threatened to fall. Angela stirred slightly in her crib, but didn't wake. Jack swallowed hard, trying to push the memories back down, but they wouldn't stay buried. Not this time. Because it was too damn real.
That afternoon, Jack and Teri finally sat down to talk. It was a quiet conversation, the kind where every word felt awkward, and both of them carefully skirted around the pain and anger that were simmering just beneath the surface. There were no accusations, no blame. Just quiet, restrained honesty. Both were holding back—holding back the anger, but especially the tears.
Jack asked her, directly, when she wanted to move back to Los Angeles. Her answer came quickly, as if she had been waiting for the question. She could start her new job in January, just two weeks away. It was the week before Christmas, and while Kim was buzzing with excitement about the tree, about Santa Claus, neither of them could focus on any of it. Their minds were consumed by what was unraveling between them.
The Christmas tree hadn't even been put up yet. Jack had postponed it, using his injury as an excuse, claiming he couldn't manage it. The truth was, he didn't care enough about Christmas to make the effort. Too much else had been weighing on him, and the thought of decorating a tree felt trivial in comparison to the silent war he'd been having with Teri on the phone.
Jack told Teri about the offer from Special Forces. How they would welcome him with open arms. Normally, he'd have to go through the grueling Special Forces Assessment and Selection process, competing against hundreds of other officers. But because of the Slide Mountain operation, two Majors of the Special Forces command who had seen him in action had pulled some strings and cleared him through. He could bypass the typical competition and go straight to the Qualification Course. If he wanted to.
The opportunity had come up a week ago, and Jack hadn't said anything. He'd just been struck, frozen. He had used Teri as his excuse, telling the Majors he needed to discuss it with his wife before he made any decisions. The truth was, the offer had ignited something in him. It felt right. Special Forces would get him out of the monotonous garrison duty that had been slowly suffocating him. It would take him back to the action, away from the endless protocols that bored him. This was what he felt he was made for.
But the course would last a year—a year in which he would barely see his family.
A week ago, Jack had decided he would let the opportunity go. He couldn't leave Kim for an entire year. He had told himself there were more important things in life than becoming part of Special Forces. But now, with Teri about to leave—taking Kim with her—the entire situation shifted. Suddenly, the prospect of staying behind at Fort Devens alone was unbearable. The house would be empty, filled with memories of a life that was slipping away from him.
No, if Teri and Kim were gone, there was nothing holding him here. He could take the opportunity, leave the house, move into the training base, and fully commit to Special Forces. For the first time in years, he felt something like freedom again. If they left, he was free to chase his own path. Not that he wanted them to leave. He would have stayed. He would have traded freedom for family.
Jack calmly told Teri about the offer. She wasn't pleased, but after having told him she was leaving him, she didn't have much room to criticize his choices. Still, Jack could see the doubt in her eyes. She didn't fully believe him when he said he would have turned down the offer if she had stayed. She thought he would have left for the course either way. But she didn't pick up a fight.
That night, Jack slept on the couch again. By Monday, December 20th, 1988, Jack was back on duty. He reported to Major Hendricks and formally applied for a transfer to the Special Forces Qualification Course. Hendricks congratulated him, and Jack knew in that moment how much he owed the man. If it hadn't been for Hendricks covering for him after the Slide Mountain mission—taking the blame for Jack's decision to charge the enemy instead of staying defensive—he never would have been promoted to First Lieutenant. He wouldn't have received the Silver Star. And this opportunity with Special Forces wouldn't even exist.
The week went by without much happening. Jack volunteered for night shifts, the ones nobody wanted, just to stay away from Teri. Each morning, when he returned home, he noticed more and more boxes packed and lined up in the hallway.
Teri had decided she would live with her sister and parents for a while. Her parents would help take care of Kim during the four days a week she would work at the gallery, part-time.
The conversations between Jack and Teri had shifted to practicalities—money, logistics. They agreed to keep their shared bank account, for now. Jack insisted he didn't need the money anyway. Once he moved to the training base, all his needs would be taken care of. He'd live with nothing but the bare essentials—two T-shirts, two pairs of jeans. Everything else would be provided by the military. Teri was relieved. She had feared a messy financial fight, but Jack made it clear: his money was hers and Kim's. If anything happened to him, of course, they should have it all.
After all the fights, after all the accusations they had hurled at each other, it was almost shocking how calm they were now. Both of them were trying to make amends, to find a way to part without more damage. They compromised where they could, trying to untangle their lives from one another as gently as possible.
There was one topic, though, that neither of them touched: whether they were truly over as a couple. They talked about logistics, about Kim, about moving. But they never talked about them. It hung in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present.
.
.
Christmas Eve had come quietly for Jack. After his last night shift from December 23rd to the early morning of the 24th, he returned home tired but was immediately urged by Teri to get a tree. He didn't argue, feeling it was better than staying in the house, so instead of sleeping, he went out, happy for an excuse to escape for a few hours.
When he got back with the tree, he spent the afternoon catching up on sleep in the master bedroom. It felt odd sleeping there, knowing that the room was nearly bare, most of their things already packed. The had developed an odd routine of sharing the bedroom and not sharing the bedroom at the same time: Teri would sleep here during the nights, and he during the days. The bedroom, once a space filled with their shared life, had been reduced to the essentials. Teri had packed her things, and his own possessions amounted to only a few boxes of clothes. He simply didn't own much.
As he lay there, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu, like he was reliving the past. Four years ago, he had walked away from everything, carrying nothing but a small bag of clothes and a few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to his mother—jewelry that Teri now wore. She hadn't offered to give it back yet, and Jack took that as a hopeful sign, a small token that they weren't completely over, though everything else seemed to suggest they were. They had agreed that Teri would take his things—what little he owned—back to Los Angeles with her, stashing them away in her parents' attic. It was a bittersweet arrangement, acknowledging the separation without fully confronting it.
On Christmas eve, they shifted into the familiar routine of "playing happy couple." They decorated the Christmas tree together, as a family. Jack did his best to hide the sadness that gnawed at him. Kim, oblivious to the turmoil between her parents, giggled as he lifted her up to hang ornaments on the higher branches. In her excitement, she managed to smash a few of the glitter balls, but no one cared. It was the usual Christmas chaos, and Jack found himself thinking back to the previous year.
Kim had only been eight months old then, and he and Teri had decorated the tree together at Fort Irwin. He let his mind drift further back, to the year before that, when they'd spent Christmas at the dorm at UCLA. He had just returned from Ranger training, and the tree in the dorm's common room had been a mishmash of ornaments the students brought, some beautiful, some ugly, all put up by their floor. Jack smiled at the memory of too much eggnog, the laughter, and the way they had drawn lots for the worst ornaments. He remembered falling asleep with Teri in his arms, his hands resting on her belly, hoping to feel their baby move.
So much had changed since then. He was 22 now, and he already felt old, used, even discarded.
That night in 1988, he found himself sitting alone in front of the Christmas tree, the small electric lights casting a soft glow in the otherwise dim living room. Teri was tucking Kim into bed, and Jack was left to finish hanging the last few ornaments from their "Christmas box.". Funny that all their other stuff was going into boxes while that one box had still been untouched since their move here. When he was done, he just sat there on the rug, staring at the tree. The future was on his mind. He wondered what next Christmas would look like. He would be in the middle of the Special Forces Qualification Course. Would he be on some grueling training mission? Or, even worse, would he be alone?
His thoughts were interrupted when Teri returned to the room. She smiled softly as she told him how excited Kim was for Santa Claus. Jack nodded, but all the unsaid things still lingered between them. They had agreed not to exchange gifts this year, focusing only on Kim. Teri had already bought presents for her, hiding them in the closet, waiting for the morning.
As Teri reached into the Christmas box, she pulled out a small sprig of mistletoe, the same one they had hung the year before. "You forgot to hang this," she remarked, looking down at Jack, who was still seated on the floor next to her.
"I didn't really feel like hanging it this year," Jack replied quietly, glancing up at her.
Teri nodded, her expression softening. She understood the meaning behind his words without needing an explanation. Gently, she placed the mistletoe back into the box. Then she pulled out something else—an ugly pizza-shaped ornament. She laughed, the sound genuine for the first time in a long while. "And this one?"
Jack looked at it and, for the first time in what felt like ages, smiled. "No way," he said, the memories rushing back.
Teri's face lit up as she turned the ornament in her hands. It brought back memories of their time in LA, Christmas, 2 years ago at the UCLA dorm. Every person on their floor had been required to buy an ugly ornament, and they had all drawn lots to see who would end up with which one. Teri and Jack had gotten the pizza slice, and she had kept it as a reminder of those carefree days.
"Let's hang it," Jack said, his voice softer now as he slowly stood, feeling the familiar ache in his leg and back from sitting for so long. This was why they were in this position, wasn't it? Teri missed LA. This ugly ornament was a symbol of that life. "I should've let Kim hang it," he teased, imagining it getting broken, if she had gotten her hands on it.
Teri laughed, the sound like a small release of tension. "Alright. Where?"
Jack pointed at a low, hidden branch near the wall. "How about there?"
"No way," Teri replied, playfully defiant. For a moment, they realized they were having the heartiest conversation they'd had in months. "Up there," she insisted, pointing to a higher, more prominent branch just out of her reach.
Jack smiled, and without hesitation, he bent down, grabbed her by the waist, and lifted her up like he had done with Kim earlier. Teri shrieked, surprised by the sudden gesture, holding onto his shoulders as she hung the ornament.
As Jack gently set her back down, they both realized something. They hadn't been this close in months. They stood there for a moment, their bodies lightly touching, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights casting a warmth over them.
Teri thought for a second that he might kiss her, the closeness stirring something long buried between them. But then, Jack lowered his gaze, stepping back just enough to create space. His voice was barely audible when he spoke. "I hope you'll be happy in LA," he whispered, not as an accusation, but as a genuine wish.
Teri's heart twisted. She could hear the sincerity in his words, the quiet pain he was trying to mask. He wasn't blaming her—he truly wanted her to be happy, even if it meant without him. In that moment, she felt like the bad guy, the one tearing their family apart.
Suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, she stepped forward, her hands reaching for the back of his neck. She stared into his eyes, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them.
"Jack," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and longing.
"I love you, Teri. I still do," Jack murmured, his voice raw and shaky.
Before she could respond, her lips were on his, the kiss charged with all the saved-up emotion they hadn't been able to release in months. The next moments were a blur. Before they knew it, they had moved to the couch, their hands fumbling to undress each other in the dim light of the Christmas tree. When the couch became too small, too cluttered with Christmas stuff and decorations, they moved to the floor.
And finally, Jack pulled the plug of the Tree's lights, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the master bedroom.
.
.
Jack woke with a start, pulled from sleep by the sound of Kim's crying in the next room. He shot up in bed, immediately alert, and found Teri stirring next to him. She had heard Kim too. He glanced at the clock—7:50 a.m. Way past Kim's usual time to wake up. It took a moment for everything to come back to him. They'd forgotten to set an alarm, forgotten to clean up the living room after decorating the tree, and worst of all, the presents for Kim were still hidden in the closet, not under the tree where they were supposed to be.
Jack and Teri exchanged a quick, embarrassed glance, neither of them quite knowing what to say. The night before had left so much unsaid, and now there was no time to process any of it. They'd woken up next to each other, still naked from a night of emotion and intimacy. Jack couldn't even remember how many times they'd lost themselves in each other. After everything that had happened over the past few months, it felt like they had been trying to make up for all the lost time in just one single night.
"You go stall Kim, and I'll get the presents," Teri whispered hurriedly, already slipping out of bed. Jack nodded, fumbling to put his jeans on—he couldn't find his underwear in the chaos of last night—and grabbing a crumpled T-shirt from the floor. He rushed out of the room, suddenly filled by adrenaline, hoping to calm Kim while Teri fetched the hidden gifts.
Christmas morning, despite the chaotic start, felt like one of the happiest Jack could remember. The intensity of their reconciliation had reignited something between them. There was a fire, the same passion they'd had before. The problems between them were still there, but for once, they didn't seem to matter. Not today.
Kim's laughter filled the house as she discovered her presents under the tree. Jack caught Teri sneaking the "cookies for Santa" into her hoodie pocket, stuffing them away while Kim couldn't see. He chuckled quietly, and when Teri pointed out that Jack's T-shirt was inside out, they both laughed. It felt good to laugh like that again. He reached into Teri's pocket and broke off a piece of the cookie, eating it right there with a grin while Kim was distracted unwrapping her gifts.
Later that morning, they went to Christmas Mass. Jack hadn't wanted to wear his uniform, but since everything else was already packed and Teri didn't want him digging through boxes, she reluctantly told him to put it on. Surprisingly, this time, church didn't feel like the performance it usually was. They were a real family again, a happy one. Jack and Teri held hands secretly, stealing glances at each other, and for the first time in months, it didn't feel forced.
But underneath it all, they both knew the track had already been set. There was no reversing it.
On January 2nd, 1989, Jack drove Teri and Kim to the airport. The farewell was nothing like their last one. This time, they clung to each other, kissed deeply, and told each other how much they loved one another. Jack promised to call and visit as often as he could. He meant it. But when they walked away toward the gate, it felt like his world had emptied out.
The next day, Jack loaded the few boxes and pieces of furniture into the Mayflower moving van, sending their life in Fort Devens off to Los Angeles. The house was empty now. He couldn't stand to stay there, so he packed up what little he had left and decided to live in that secret room he'd found on the base for a few days, a small escape before he had to leave for Special Forces training at Fort Bragg.
He didn't see Teri or Kim again until the end of March, when he visited them in Los Angeles. It was strange then, seeing them again. Kim was overjoyed to see him, and Teri was happy, but there was tension with her family. They weren't pleased with Jack being away for so long, and despite his financial support, they didn't hide their disapproval. The pull that had been so strong over Christmas was weakening, the distance between them growing again.
As the Special Forces training continued, Jack found some relief when he was stationed in Monterey for a time. He could drive to LA on weekends, and for a while, it felt like they were finding their rhythm again. They even started looking for houses in November, realizing that living with Teri's family was becoming too cramped for all Teri and Kim. Teri officially moved into a new house in LA in December, though for Jack, it was only a week he stayed there, before he shipped out to Fort Carson in Colorado.
That Christmas weekend in 1989, despite everything, was one of the good ones. A year earlier, Jack had feared spending it alone, on some mission or in training, but instead, he had that week with Teri and Kim, and it was enough to hold onto.
Now, sitting in front of Angela's crib, those memories felt distant but warm. He thought of last Christmas, how low he'd been, struggling to pull himself out of the hole he'd dug with heroin. He had been on a good path, trying to cut down. But Christmas had made it worse. The loneliness, the memories—it was too much. He remembered buying the vial the day before, knowing deep down he wouldn't make it through the holiday without using it all and longing for even more.
No family, no Teri, no Kim. Just him, and the needle in his hand. He hadn't even tried to resist.
Sitting there on the floor, Jack felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he had finally gotten rid of the drugs. He had no illusions—he knew that he could never have managed it on his own. Not without Audrey.
Kim and everyone else had been on his back the whole time, their eyes full of reproach, their voices sharp with frustration. Everyone had nagged him to quit, constantly reminding him of the dangers, pushing him, as if he didn't already know the damage he was doing to himself. But it wasn't that simple. Everyone around him seemed to think they knew what he needed, how he should act, like they held the secret answer that would magically fix everything. But no one, not a single person, had cared to ask why. No one had ever just listened. Or simply sat with him in silence.
Except Audrey.
He had never expected to find solace in someone like her—a top-level Washington politician, someone whose world was filled with strategy and diplomacy, far from the chaos of his life. Yet it was Audrey's voice, calm and steady, that had reached him when he was 2000 miles away, at his lowest point. She hadn't lectured him. She hadn't pretended to have the answers. She had just been there. And that had been enough.
Jack was endlessly grateful for that. For her. And in that moment, he was glad the phone was off and buried deep in his bag. Out of sight, out of reach.
Because if it wasn't, he knew he might do something stupid.
Like writing her.
Writing something very stupid.
.
.
.