Chapter 5: The Foxhole and the Fallout

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Marcus had a circle of old friends in Savannah.

They met every week at The Foxhole, a bar with sticky floors and neon signs. Pool tables clacked in the background, the jukebox switched to an old Garth Brooks song, and the bartender wiped down the counter with a threadbare dishcloth. The regulars greeted Marcus with a nod or a lifted glass.

After finding Natalie Winters, he was in no hurry to return.

He nursed a glass of bourbon at the bar, Natalie tucked under his arm. They watched the late-night crowd roll in, young couples laughing over cheap wings, old-timers complaining about the Braves.

First, Natalie was playful and didn’t want to go back.

She spun on her stool, teasing Marcus with a sly smile. "Let’s stay a few more days, baby. I want to see the ocean again."

Second, he’d already left all the wedding arrangements to Aubrey.

So what was the rush?

He shrugged, letting the days slide by in a haze of sweet tea and slow sunsets.

"Man, Marcus is really something—running around Georgia with his new girl, leaving the old one back in Maple Heights to prep the wedding."

The guys at the bar snickered, swapping stories and gossiping over pitchers of beer.

"Won’t the wife be mad?" someone asked at the bar.

Someone else answered immediately:

"Paul, you don’t know, do you?"

"Aubrey’s the type to stand by her man, no matter what. Shoot, Marcus could ask her to hand over the house keys and she’d probably bake him a pie on the way out."

"Let alone marrying a new woman—even if he asked her to step down and let the newcomer take her place, she’d probably agree."

"Marcus, am I right?"

Marcus raised his brows.

Not wrong at all.

He took a slow sip of bourbon, rolling the glass between his hands. Aubrey had always been steady, reliable, the kind of woman who’d never cause a scene. He couldn’t imagine her ever saying no.

Aubrey was obedient and gentle.

Her eyes were always full of him.

That day, he told her he was going to marry Natalie, and she didn’t object at all.

Instead, she urged him to come home early.

She couldn’t be without him for even half a day.

He grinned, a little smug, a little wistful, replaying the conversation in his head. He’d always assumed she’d be waiting.

Just as the bartender pushed open the door, Marcus smiled and waved him over:

"Did my wife reply?"

It was the first time he’d written to her while away, and he’d entrusted her with such an important task.

She must be thrilled.

The bartender bowed his head, glanced at the people at the table, and hesitated.

"It’s fine, they’re all friends. Speak."

The bartender lowered his head and replied:

"It was Mr. Ward who brought the message—Mrs. Ellison has left home."

"Left home?"

"Yes… she packed her things, took her stuff… and left…"

Marcus suddenly stood up.

His jaw clenched, and for a split second, he looked like a man who’d just been sucker-punched. The stool screeched back, toppling onto the floor. The whole bar turned to look, conversations halting. Marcus’s eyes flashed, caught somewhere between anger and disbelief.

"Ha…"

Natalie, who had been quiet, suddenly laughed.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, voice sweet but mocking. "So the wife is learning from me, acting a bit spoiled."

"But she’s already the real Mrs. Ellison. Taking her things, where can she go?"

In the next moment, her eyes turned red. "Ah, it’s all my fault…"

She sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, playing the victim for anyone who cared to watch.

"So willful, I’ve even led her astray…"

"Marcus, let’s go back quickly."

"If your wife is so angry that she never comes back, that would be terrible!"

Marcus sneered.

Not come back? Go back to her greedy uncle and aunt?

"Derek," he called to the bartender, "extend the hotel room for another month."

He wanted to see—

She left home, but how far could she go, and for how long?

He leaned back in his chair, daring her to make the first move. Savannah felt like a safe distance from any real consequences.