For four months, I had been keeping track of the days and measuring time in miles and heartbeats. The idea of returning through my front door and touching my newborn daughters for the first time was my one bright, obvious motivation to get through each morning as an average man. I had looked at their photo more times than I could remember since my mother sent it to me the previous week. For the whole journey home, I kept it folded in my uniform’s breast pocket, handling it so frequently that the crease had become fuzzy and squishy at the edges. I had not disclosed the prosthetic leg I was now wearing to my mother, wife, or Mara. We had previously lost two pregnancies, and I had personally witnessed the devastating effects those heartbreaks had on her physical and mental health. I deliberately chose not to tell her about the injuries when it happened during my last deployment. At last, the pregnancy she was carrying was holding. When she was so emotionally weak, I refused to jeopardize that by giving her news that would frighten her. My best friend, Mark, has been my confidant since we were twelve years old. When I told him over the phone, he broke down and said, “You are going to have to be strong now, man,” in a shaky voice. You’ve always underestimated your strength.
I had complete faith in him. Two hand-knitted yellow sweaters that matched the hue my mother claimed to be using to adorn the nursery were found in a little market close to the airport. Then, as white had always been Mara’s favorite color, I purchased fresh white flowers from a roadside vendor. I wanted to surprise my wife, so I didn’t call in advance. I pictured the door opening, the delight of introducing her to the girls, and the expression on her face when she saw me. Excited and full of expectation, the drive from the airport seemed like the longest thirty minutes of my life. Nothing could possible ruin that moment, I recall thinking. I was entirely mistaken.
I remained in my truck for a while after pulling into the driveway, then I got out and approached the front steps. Before I ever touched the front door, something felt very wrong. The windows were dark, there was no music or television, and there was none of the everyday noise that usually permeates a house with two babies. With the yellow sweaters tucked under my arm and flowers in one hand, I stood on the porch. I opened the door slowly and called out to my mother and wife, but there was no sound coming from the chambers. The house I had learned from pictures was completely empty, the walls were barren, and the furniture had vanished.
Then I heard someone upstairs sobbing. As I rushed up the stairs, pain flashed through my prosthetic leg. My mother was inside the nursery, wearing her coat, with one infant curled up on her shoulder and the other in the crib. The nursery door was open. When she saw me, her eyes fell from my face to my prosthetic limb and she started to cry. When I asked her what had happened, she told me through tears that Mara had requested her to take the girls to church so they could have some peaceful time. However, the house was empty when they got back.
There was a note from Mara on the dresser. “Mark told me about your leg,” the words struck me like a blow to the body. and that you were going to give me a surprise today. Arnold, I can’t do this. I refuse to squander my life on changing diapers and a broken man. I can get more from Mark. Mara, be careful. Not only had Mark told Mara about my leg, but he had also persuaded her to go by using the secret I gave him. He had chosen to betray my trust by stealing my wife, even though he was the only person I trusted.
I put down the message, picked up my sobbing daughter Katie, and sat on the floor with my back to the crib. We sat together in the empty, yellow-painted nursery after my mother put my other daughter, Mia, in my free arm. I silently vowed to the girls that neither they nor I were going anywhere as I let the sorrow to wash over me.
The next three years were the most challenging and pivotal in my life. During the first year, my mother lived with me, and we developed a strong routine. I discovered the joint mechanism was uncomfortable and ineffective as I got used to using my prosthesis to get around. At the kitchen table late at night, I drew up changes using my experience and pure willpower. I created a ground-breaking adaptable joint, located a manufacturing partner, and submitted a patent. I focused solely on giving my girls a secure existence while building a very successful business without looking for attention.
My business bought a foreclosed estate to use as a new facility three years later. I discovered Mara and Mark were the previous owners when I looked at the property records. When I got to the address, I noticed moving trucks outside. Mark stood close by, looking discouraged, as Mara argued with a foreman on the porch. I approached and rapped on the door. Mara opened it and went completely motionless, staring at me as if I were a ghost. Mark looked up, seemingly unfazed by the arrival of a consequence he had long dreaded.
I asked the foreman how long the clearing procedure would take, glancing at him. He affirmed that everything had been completed. I turned to face Mara and Mark and declared that I now owned the land. Startled, Mara requested to see the girls she had left behind. I told her that they had long since ceased waiting for her because I had made sure of it, looking her in the eye. Mark attempted to protest and request more time, but I disregarded their justifications, returned to my truck, and drove off.
That land is now used as a residential retreat center for veterans with injuries. It has gardens, therapeutic rooms, and programs aimed at assisting people in starting again. I only wanted to provide folks a spot where they might know they were not done; I didn’t want a monument to myself.