1992, October (LA)
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When Teri received the call, she was no longer hoping for it to be Jack. That hope had withered away weeks ago, replaced by a dull resignation each time the phone rang. In the first weeks, she hadn't expected anything; he'd said he'd be off the grid for a while. But after a month had passed, she'd found herself hoping, just a little, every time she heard the phone ring. Every single time, she would rush to answer, her pulse quickening as she braced to hear his voice. And every single time, she was disappointed.
Just a friend checking in.
Just the dry cleaner, calling to say her dress was ready.
A call from a neighbor about Kim's soccer ball that had found its way into her backyard again.
Or the Kindergarten.
Teri had never been summoned to a principal's office her entire life, but there she'd sat, not even a week ago, with the Kindergarten teacher, who was talking to her in hushed tones and throwing glances toward the play area. Teri's heart sank as she listened. It wasn't anything Kim had done, the teacher explained quickly; it was something she'd said. Kim had been so polite, sweet as always. But during a game where the teacher had asked each child about their parents' professions, Kim had said, "My dad kills people."
The words had apparently stunned the class, and Teri felt her stomach turn as she imagined it. The other children had been shocked, and the parents even more so when they found out. The teacher had been gentle but firm with Teri, mentioning that some parents were upset and might not want their children in the same group as Kim anymore.
Teri had felt a rush of emotions—anger, embarrassment, and a deep, helpless frustration. She had no idea where Kim had picked up that notion; perhaps some child at school had said something about the army, or maybe she'd drawn some conclusions after watching TV. After all, she knew her dad was a soldier, in the army. The talk with the teacher had ended with Teri making assurances that she'd speak with Kim, that it wouldn't happen again.
But those calls kept coming—parents expressing concern, others making pointed suggestions that Teri could surely find another Kindergarten for Kim, "where she might be more comfortable." And each call left her angrier than before, the resentment building toward Jack. It was his work, his life choices that had forced them into this. Every time she hung up, she found herself muttering under her breath, frustrated beyond words at her husband who'd been gone for three months without a single call, leaving her to fend off disapproving parents and console a daughter who didn't understand why "killing people" wasn't a normal profession and why everyone else's dad was around but hers wasn't.
Teri reached for the phone with a forced calm, bracing herself against the rush of frustration that simmered beneath the surface. She swallowed down the urge to confront the overprotective mothers, to scream at them to let her and Kim be. Her fingers tightened around the receiver as she composed herself, willing her voice to stay steady.
"Bauer," she said, her voice a controlled, neutral tone that belied the storm churning within.
"Mrs. Bauer?" The voice was unfamiliar, male, with a steady and official tone. "I am Major Richard Walsh, on behalf of the US Special Forces command."
The world stopped. Teri's heart plummeted, her mind racing with a fear so swift it numbed her entire body. She nearly dropped the receiver, gripping it with white-knuckled intensity as if the force alone could somehow hold back the terrible words she dreaded. This was it. The call. The one where they'd gently, formally express their condolences and tell her that Jack was gone. She'd been angry at him for so long, days and nights filled with resentment toward his choices, his distance. But in that instant, the anger evaporated, replaced by a sudden, shattering grief that threatened to consume her whole.
"Is he…?" The words caught in her throat, her voice a thin, barely controlled whisper.
"Mrs. Bauer, he's alive." Walsh's voice softened, his words quick and reassuring, as though he sensed her worst fears. "He sustained severe injuries a few days ago but he's stable now."
The relief was almost painful. She could breathe again, but only barely. Severe injuries. The words echoed in her mind. Her husband was somewhere out there, hurt so bad that not he himself but the military was calling her. She tried to anchor herself, to draw up an image of him—strong, resilient, unbreakable—and yet the thought of him injured shook that picture to its core. Like that occasion a few years ago, when he had come home, battered from his last mission.
Major Walsh's words echoed in her head. A few days ago. If he'd died, they would have told her long after the fact. She imagined him, hurt, injured, lying in some hospital bed, alone. Was he even conscious? Reponsive?
She steadied her breath, trying to push through the confusion clouding her thoughts. "What kind of injuries?" she managed to ask, her voice sharper than she intended, the terror rising beneath her forced calm.
"I'm sorry, I can't tell you over the phone. That's classified," he said, his voice matter-of-fact, without any hint of the impact his words had on her.
"Classified?" Her voice rose, disbelief and frustration mixing into an almost desperate anger. "You tell me my husband is severely injured, and you refuse to tell me what it is?" She barely kept herself from shouting, but her rage was unmistakable, simmering beneath every syllable.
Walsh stayed calm. "Yes, ma'am. That's how this works."
The words hit like a wall, an immovable force blocking her path. It was as though she were pounding her fists against that door that would never open, a door that shut her out of her husband's life, his world. It was this same, impenetrable wall that had been wedged between them for as long as she could remember—the system that kept its secrets and divided their family.
"Where is he right now?" she demanded, bitterness hardening her voice. "Or is that something you can't tell me either?"
"Right now, he's at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center," Walsh replied. "Germany. Near Ramstein airbase." His tone softened as he continued, as if attempting to ease the blow and adding details, because he guessed she wasn't familiar with Landstuhl. "We're looking to find a way to have him transported back to the US. We're coordinating with the Department of VA."
Germany. A medical center. Teri struggled to process the words as they spun in her mind. There was nothing tangible in them, no comfort, just this foreign distance, this vagueness. She was alone in her kitchen, clinging to the phone, while her husband lay hurt, halfway around the world.
"What's VA?" she asked, feeling lost, her mind barely able to keep up with the influx of unknowns.
"Veterans Affairs," he clarified, his voice steady, professional.
The words stung. Veterans Affairs. Teri's stomach clenched at the image that formed in her mind, a scene pulled from some half-remembered movie—a soldier, battered and broken, reliant on the help of strangers, no longer a man he once was. She pictured Jack, maybe confined to a wheelchair, an arm or leg lost. Her mind was crowded with images of veterans she'd seen on the streets, men hunched in alleyways, too broken to rejoin society, their lives fractured and worn. And she imagined Jack—a man so impossibly strong—reduced to this.
The silence that followed felt as heavy as a tomb. She stood there, holding the phone, but the words wouldn't come. The carefully constructed anger, her strength, the anger she'd kept close to shield herself from the loneliness—all of it cracked and slipped away, leaving her raw and exposed, with nothing to anchor her.
"…We're looking for a hospital to transfer him to that would be near you," Walsh continued, his words attempting to break through the fog surrounding her thoughts.
She heard his voice, understood the words, but it was as if she'd been thrust into some nightmare, surrounded by vague assurances that felt hollow and meaningless.
Teri stood frozen, the phone still clutched tightly in her hand, Walsh's words echoing in her mind. Veterans Affairs. It was absurd. Jack was only twenty-six—too young, far too young to be called a veteran, to be a man they'd now call broken, needing "special arrangements" to return to a family he could no longer fully belong to. She pictured him confined, limited by injuries they wouldn't even let her know about. The Jack she knew was strong, unstoppable, capable of so much more than what the word veteran suggested. It was a word meant for old men, or men who'd been used chewed up by the world and spit out.
Her heart ached as she thought of Kim. Their little girl—five years old, so bright and full of life, always asking when her daddy would come home, always looking forward to the day he'd take her to the stables or teach her to ride a bike. Kim was too young for a father who'd no longer be able to do those things, who might come home unable to run, to lift her high in the air the way she loved.
A heaviness spread through her chest as the truth set in. Her whole world felt like it had cracked open, its stability crumbling under the weight of this new reality. She had never doubted that Jack was risking his life, but the idea that he might come back…changed, less than the man he'd once been, was something she hadn't let herself consider. Now, it felt as if all her anger had been shattered into grief, her worries into hopelessness.
For a moment, she wondered if he'd ever truly been hers—or if he'd always belonged to this other world, this system that demanded everything and gave nothing in return. And as she stood there, gripping the phone, Teri realized that the life she had clung to—the family she thought she'd built—was dissolving yet again before her eyes.
She felt helpless, small, completely shut out from the life he lived. Her own life, once so full of love and connection, now felt suspended in a nightmare. The thought of facing Jack like this, the idea that he might come home changed forever, filled her with a sadness she could hardly bear, because she knew that he wouldn't be okay with this either. He wouldn't want to be a burden for her and Kim.
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Teri's hand shook as she grasped the door handle. Room B413—that was the room number they'd given her. She was standing just outside Jack's door at UCLA Medical Center. Major Walsh had finally managed to get Jack back to LA, yet it was only by chance that she'd heard of it. As always, the news had reached her late, another decision made without her, hidden behind the barrier of protocols and military logistics. Walsh had apparently arranged for Jack's transport five days ago, on a military plane leaving Ramstein if space allowed. If not, Jack would have stayed in Germany, alone and waiting for the next chance to be brought home.
This afternoon, Walsh had called again. The transport had gone through, he'd said, two days ago. Jack had been admitted to UCLA Medical Center yesterday, yet she had only been two miles away, completely oblivious to his presence in her own city. For a whole day, Jack had been here—her husband, just a short drive from home—and she hadn't known. The anger and frustration clawed at her chest, mingling with the shame. She should have known. She should have known. And nobody had cared to tell her. Walsh had apologized, saying that he hadn't been able to make the call earlier.
Her fingers tightened on the door handle as she forced herself to take a slow, steadying breath, willing herself to be strong enough to face whatever she might see on the other side. She had no idea what awaited her. What condition he might be in. Would he be missing a leg? An eye? Be scarred beyond recognition? The thought froze her for a moment, a cold, stifling dread wrapping around her heart. She almost wanted to turn back, to delay the confrontation with the worst, but something deep inside reminded her that she had to go in. She had to face it.
She glanced down at her hand, at the wedding ring that she hadn't registered that consciously in a while. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. For better, for worse. Words she'd spoken six years ago, with no thought of how much weight they would come to carry. She hadn't imagined they'd face this much of the "worse" times, hadn't pictured so many moments spent waiting, so much loneliness, so many struggles to hold onto something they'd built with love, but that love always seemed strained and stretched by distance, by war, by the impossible nature of his life.
At last, she pushed open the door, hesitating as she stepped inside, her gaze moving tentatively toward the bed. Jack was awake, his eyes immediately locking onto hers. She could see in his expression that he'd been expecting her—that he'd hoped she would come yesterday. He'd lain there, day turning into night, biting through the pain of his injuries, but the worst pain was the thought that she might not come at all. She could almost read his thoughts in the lines of his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the doubt in his gaze. He'd probably imagined she'd finally given up on him, on them. That the pain he constantly brought into her life had finally become too much.
Wordlessly, she crossed the room, taking him in as she drew closer. His hair had grown out, no longer cut in the regulation military style she was so used to seeing, and she wondered why. A deep cut slashed above his right eye, and a scattering of scratches marked his cheek. A large white patch of gauze covered the crook of his neck on the left side, and his left arm was wrapped in bandages. The rest of his body was hidden beneath the standard hospital blanket, but it looked as though both legs were there, and both arms.
And then, with his right hand, he reached out to her, stretching in a hope to close the distance between them, if only a little.
Teri stepped closer, her gaze fixed on his outstretched arm, her eyes lingering on the bandages that covered his arm and the thin IV line attached to the back of his hand. She could feel a strange, unexplainable hesitation bubbling up inside her, holding her back. He was her husband—he had been her whole life once—but now, in this sterile hospital room, he felt distant, almost like a stranger she was expected to comfort but barely knew. She hadn't heard his voice in over three months, hadn't seen his face in over half a year. Somewhere along the way, he had become someone different, someone she hadn't prepared herself for—a ghost of the man she used to know, but the memories in her head no longer fit the person she found in front of her now.
"Teri." His voice was hoarse, strained as if he'd had to push the word out past raw, unused vocal cords. The rasp carried the mark of recent intubation, each syllable roughened not just by days of silence but by the tube that had forced him to keep breathing through the worst of it.
She sat down slowly in the chair by his bed, her hand hesitating before she took his, feeling the rough edges of the bandages. His skin beneath felt cold. His fingers closed over hers, each movement deliberate, as though he were savoring the simple, ordinary act of touch.
She couldn't shake the shock of seeing him like this, looking so small and defeated, with shadows haunting his eyes that hadn't been there before. He looked hollowed out, as if some essential part of him had been carved away. She searched his gaze, her own heart heavy with the weight of this all.
"What happened to you?" she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling in the space between them.
At her question, she saw something flicker in his eyes, a flash of memories replaying across his mind that he couldn't turn away from. It was as if, for a moment, he was somewhere else entirely, a place she couldn't reach, a place that still had its dark grip on him, holding him hostage. Her heart twisted painfully as she watched him, as she sensed just how deeply whatever had happened had scarred him. She pressed his hand, urging him softly, "Tell me."
Jack's eyes fell, a shadow passing over his face as he whispered, "I can't."
The words weren't enough; he knew that. He saw the confusion in Teri's gaze, the unspoken question she needed him to answer. But he couldn't give her that. It wasn't just about protocol or confidentiality. It was about something he could barely admit to himself, let alone lay bare in front of her. Everything he'd been through, everything he'd done.
Images flashed in his mind, memories that refused to fade. He could still feel the helplessness of those nights when he'd swallowed down vodka to keep his head in the role, or when he'd looked away as innocent lives were taken before him. He remembered the empty faces, the dead children, the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest each time he had neither been allowed nor able to intervene, each time he'd let himself become just another bystander to horror. He hadn't stopped it. He couldn't. He was meant to blend in. And then, when the facade demanded it, he'd found himself waking in strangers' beds, the hollow weight of their touch still lingering even as the memories blurred in his mind. A few different women, all nameless, all part of the role he'd committed to playing. Back then, he'd told himself it was justified for the mission, that he'd do whatever it took to save the lives of innocents who would be slaughtered if he didn't go through with it. But now, looking into Teri's eyes, seeing her here, a wave of shame washed over him, drowning out the excuses he'd told himself.
The shame twisted inside him as he raised his eyes, reluctantly meeting Teri's. He couldn't read her expression clearly, and he wasn't sure if there was still love or patience left in her gaze. Instead, he saw a quiet, unyielding demand for answers—answers he knew he couldn't give her. The truth of what he'd done, what he'd become, would destroy whatever remained between them, and he was terrified of that final rupture. So, he swallowed it down, deciding then and there that he would carry the full weight of it alone.
But as he looked at her, he felt the ache rise within him, the sharp knowledge that he had forfeited everything—every right to her trust, her forgiveness, her companionship. He knew that the last months had reduced him to a shell of the man he'd once been, reduced to nothing but regrets and memories he wished he could erase. And all he could do, was silently plead, beg for her forgiveness, beg her not to leave him—even though he knew he had no right to ask it.
Jack drew her hand gently to his face, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his injured arm. The dull, burning ache from the bullet wound was sharp, but it barely registered in comparison to the fear gnawing at his heart—the fear that Teri might leave him. She hadn't come here yesterday, and as much as he tried to silence the thought, he wondered if she'd delayed coming to see him for a reason. Maybe she'd been searching for the words to say goodbye. Maybe, after everything he'd put her through, she was finally deciding to let go.
He pressed his lips softly to the back of her hand, unable to hold onto more of her than this fragile connection. Then he laid his forehead against her skin, feeling the warmth of her hand against his brow. He whispered it softly, the words a plea from somewhere deeper than he could control, repeating over and over like a desperate litany: "Please don't leave me."
Teri sat silently, feeling the weight of his words, the ache in them. She had thought about leaving him. Just last week, as she'd sat in the office as Kim's Kindergartener explained the fallout of her daughter's words to the class—"My dad kills people." Those words had struck her like a hammer, tearing through her last reserves of patience with Jack's decisions and pushing her to a breaking point. She'd felt anger, shame. The thought of leaving him had crossed her mind then, if only to protect Kim from a future shadowed by her father's choices.
But now, as she looked down at Jack—reduced to this, a battered and broken version of the man she'd once promised to love—she remembered the vows she'd made six years ago. For better, for worse. In sickness and in health. Leaving him like this felt unbearable, like a betrayal of her own promises, of the love they'd once shared. Yet the weight of their life together, the pain and endless waiting, was more than she could carry if he didn't change.
As he whispered his plea for the tenth time, she bent down, bringing her face close to his. She could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, something she'd never seen before. He looked up at her, desperate and open in a way that laid bare the fragile pieces of his soul.
"Jack," she began, her voice low, steady. "I'm not going through this another time." She didn't need to spell it out—he would know what she meant. She wouldn't stand by him unless he decided, truly decided, to leave the military behind. There was a limit to how much their relationship could endure, and they had crossed that line a long time ago.
"You don't have to," he whispered back, his voice barely audible. "I'm done with it." And even as he said it, he felt a wrenching pain inside, as if he were giving up the very core of who he was. The army, the missions—they'd been his life, his only purpose. Walking away felt like dying for nothing, like abandoning the people he'd fought alongside, the ones who would remain in Bosnia, facing horrors he knew too well. And yet, losing Teri was worse than any of it.
It felt selfish to leave it all behind, to trade his sense of duty for the chance to save his relationship. But he would do it. He had to. Teri and Kim were all he had left to lose.
Teri's eyes narrowed as she searched his face, and he could see the doubt there. She didn't trust his promise. She'd seen him say words like this before, only for him to go back the moment he was healed, to repeat the cycle that tore their lives apart. She knew him too well to believe it without question. She let a silence settle between them before finally saying the thing she knew would hit him just as hard as it had hit her.
"Kim said something at Kindergarten," she said. "When they asked about the jobs of their parents… she told them that her dad kills people for a living."
The words hit him like a physical blow. His hand slipped from hers as he turned his face into the pillow, his shoulders shaking as the weight of it bore down on him. He felt like his soul was cracking open, the full force of what he'd done and what he'd become flooding through him. That those words had come from Kim—that a five-year old could put into words what he was afraid to admit. And actually, she had managed to put it into just a few words, how he felt like. What he had become. A sob escaped him, and he buried his face deeper into the pillow, trying to muffle the broken sounds as he finally couldn't help but cry.
Teri watched him, her face tense. She had said it to hurt him, yes, to make him feel the depth of the pain she'd endured, the way his choices had twisted their lives. But seeing him crumble under it, seeing the raw anguish she'd evoked in him, made her hesitate. She hadn't expected him to break this way, and she wasn't sure if it scared her or softened her.
She stayed silent, sitting beside him as he struggled to regain control, his sobs gradually subsiding into deep breaths. When he finally turned back to her, his red-rimmed eyes met hers, filled with the same plea like before—not to leave him.
She could feel his words seeping through her, every ounce of sincerity and pain he poured into them. And yet, she wasn't sure she could believe it, wasn't sure she could endure another cycle of broken promises. She felt torn, unsteady, unable to give him the answer he wanted.
"I'll be back tomorrow," she said finally, standing slowly. She left his question unanswered, left his hope hanging in the space between them as she turned and walked out of the room, feeling the weight of his gaze on her until the door clicked shut behind her. The truth was, she didn't know what to do. She couldn't take it anymore, but walking away from him felt impossible too. And in that moment, as she left him alone, her heart was as uncertain as his.
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Written to:
Coming home (Cover by reena cahoon)