Chapter 3The Generals Debt Is Paid

The next morning, I went to the base hospital for a full physical. In my last life, the doctor told me that if we had caught the cancer even a few months earlier, my odds would have been vastly better. In this life, my health was my only real currency.

I had just pulled my ticket for the lab when Charlotte called. "Come to my office. Now. It’s urgent."

"I’m at the hospital for a check-up."

"The check-up can wait," she said, her voice brooking no argument. "I just got orders. I’m heading to a joint operations seminar this afternoon. You need to take the Special Ops cadets through the simulation training. You know the drills."

In my past life, this was our routine. I was her shadow. I edited her students' reports, I coordinated her logistics, I even drove sick cadets to the ER in the middle of the night. When she’d return, she’d give me a curt "Good job," as if it were my duty to do her work for her.

"They're your cadets," I said. "Figure it out."

The line went silent for two seconds. Her voice dropped an octave, dangerous. "I don't have time—"

I hung up.

The results came back quickly. The doctor pointed at the CT scan. "No signs of malignancy. However, a few of your blood markers are elevated. I want to start you on a preventative regimen and see you back here every three months."

I took the paperwork, my fingers trembling slightly. The weight on my chest finally lifted.

As I walked out of the hospital, I saw a social media notification. One of Charlotte’s cadets had posted a video. Brody was on the simulation field, leading the team. The camera panned to see Charlotte rushing onto the field to join him.

In the background, the cadets were cheering. "Brody is a natural! Look at them, the General and Brody look so good together."

In the last few seconds of the video, Charlotte suddenly stumbled. She clutched her stomach, her face turning ashen, and she collapsed.

"General!" Brody screamed. The video cut to black.

I realized then—it had been two days since I’d reminded her to take her medication.

My phone rang. It was Brody, his voice cracking. "Get to the Base Hospital! Charlotte has a gastric bleed! She’s in emergency surgery and I don't have her ID or medical records—I can't sign the paperwork!"

When I arrived, the "Surgery in Progress" light was red. Brody and a handful of cadets were huddled by the doors.

One of the male cadets spotted me and marched over, his face red with anger. "You knew the General had a stomach condition! Why didn't you make sure she took her meds?"

A female cadet whispered, "If you had just helped with the drills like she asked, she wouldn't have had to rush back and trigger an attack."

Brody pulled at her sleeve. "Stop it. The only thing that matters is that she’s okay."

I ignored them. I walked to the nurse’s station, pulled out my military ID, and signed the authorization forms.

An hour later, the surgeon emerged. He walked straight to Brody. "Family?"

"Yes," Brody said quickly. "How is she?"

"Acute gastric hemorrhage. We’ve stopped the bleeding. She needs a strict diet and consistent medication. Keep her stress low."

As the doctor spoke, Brody nodded fervently, the cadets hanging on every word. No one noticed me standing in the corner.

I waited for the doctor to finish, then walked over and handed the payment receipt and the medical history folder to Brody. "I’m leaving."

As I walked away, their voices faded into the hum of the hospital.

I spent the next few days buried in work, finalizing my transfer and writing my handover reports. It wasn't until a week later that I returned to the officers' quarters. I pushed the door open and stopped.

Charlotte was on the sofa, still pale. Brody was sitting next to her, peeling an apple. Charlotte’s parents were there too.

Her mother glanced at me, her tone flat. "You're back?"

I nodded and started toward my room.

Her father called out, "Wait. Your wife has been in the hospital for a week and you haven't shown your face once. Now that she’s home, you don't even have a question for her?"

Her mother chimed in. "You were the one who insisted on getting married. Now that you have her, you treat her like an afterthought?"

I turned around. "Actually, I—"

"Don't be mad at him, Mrs. West," Brody interrupted gently. "Nate’s been busy with work. I’m sure he’s been worried in his own way."

Her mother’s expression softened as she patted Brody’s hand. "You're always so thoughtful, Brody."

Charlotte glanced at me, but she said nothing. They went back to their conversation, looking for all the world like a happy family.

I didn't bother explaining. I walked into my room and closed the door.