Chapter 2: Heartbreak on the Edge of Town

Ethan Caldwell returned to Maple Heights, his unit camped just past the last golden wheat fields, where the land started to roll and the town faded into prairie. The sharp tang of coffee mixed with diesel fumes, and the sound of classic rock played low on someone’s radio. I brought a picnic basket—his favorite almond coffee cake, still warm from my oven.

The Caldwell family pass, a little brass token stamped with the family crest, got me through all the checkpoints right up to the command tent. The guards—local boys, most of them—nodded and offered tired, polite smiles, their uniforms rumpled from too many sleepless nights.

"Ethan... don’t, be gentle..."

The air inside the tent was thick, close, humid from too many bodies and lantern heat. From behind the flap, I heard laughter, then a woman’s voice—soft, teasing, wrapping around Ethan’s low, ragged breathing. A sweet, musky scent lingered—out of place with the boot polish and army cots.

I froze, vision tunneling.

"...Rachel is just a naive little thing. Besides baking cookies for the church bake sale, what else can she do?"

I’d heard my name—my heart dropped. I remembered the first time Ethan said my name, gentle as a secret. Now it sounded like a punch. "She’s not even a fraction of you... Is this really the time to talk about her..."

My grip on the picnic basket went white-knuckled. My heart hammered, my feet glued to the ground. Nausea swelled, and I pressed my hand to my stomach, fighting not to double over. I refused to let anyone see me break.

People always said Ethan kept a field advisor—a woman dressed as a man, confidante by day, lover by night, sharing his tent. I’d thought it was just gossip. Now, hearing it myself, the truth felt sharper, crueler. The evidence pressed in, relentless as the prairie wind.

Aubrey, my maid, dropped her gaze and tugged my sleeve. "Miss..." she whispered, as if she could shield me from the hurt with her voice alone.

I took a shaky breath and went to a side tent to wait. Each step crunched on the dirt, heavier than the last. Inside the shelter, I sat quietly, the cake untouched, my hands trembling.

Half an hour later, the tent flap jerked up. Ethan walked in, shirt rumpled, sweat shining on his brow. He frowned when he saw me. "What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, brittle.

I looked down and held out the basket. "You’re my fiancé. You’re back in town—can’t I come to greet you?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could smell the faint trace of perfume clinging to his collar.

I was never much of a cook, but I’d woken before sunrise to make this. My hands were nicked from the knives. Now, instead of a smile, all I got was irritation.

"This is a military camp. How can a woman just walk in? What are you doing here?" He sounded like a colonel, not the boy I thought I loved.

Just then, a figure strode in—a man in blue, hair pulled back, but the delicate neck and hint of blush gave her away. She thought I was blind. Her uniform fit well, but her eyes glinted with challenge.

She smiled too brightly. "Isn’t this the general’s fiancée, Miss Rachel?" She put extra shine on my name, turning it into a punchline.

"Miss Rachel, Ethan’s been in the field so long, he doesn’t really get romance. Please don’t blame him for being blunt." Her voice was syrupy, her tone practiced, like she’d been rehearsing for this moment.

Ethan muttered, "Sam Morgan is my advisor." His voice was clipped, wanting this over before it began.

He pressed, "This is the camp. There’s nothing for you here. Go home." He didn’t even look at the cake.

I set the basket down, turned, and left. My hands shook, but I kept my chin high, refusing to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Sam followed, shoving the basket back at me when no one was looking. She dropped the nice act, arching a brow and smirking. "You’re the kind of girl who bakes cookies for the church bake sale and calls it a day. No wonder Ethan’s bored."

"A woman should be more than someone’s shadow—smart enough to run things, strong enough to protect what matters, not just stuck inside making her husband her whole world."

"Knowing a man doesn’t love you, yet shamelessly clinging on. As a woman, I almost feel sorry for you." Her words cut like January wind—sharp, merciless, meant to sting.

I smiled. Maybe I was the boring type, not Ethan’s style. But suddenly, he wasn’t mine either. Something inside me unclenched. For once, I didn’t care what the town would say. I was tired of being the good girl everyone pitied.

Climbing into the car, I called, "Harper, let’s go."

"Miss, where to?" Her voice was gentle, but it steadied me more than anything.

"To city hall." The words tasted like a dare—and a promise.