I Starved While She Lived My Life

My husband, that two-timing bastard, gave me his sweet nothings and gave his brother's widow, Carol, every last dime.

He claimed Carol needed the respectable title of a military wife, so he packed her up and took her with him, leaving me stranded out in the sticks.

Every month, I'd get three letters dripping with empty affection, but his entire paycheck went straight to her.

The year the Dust Bowl devastated the plains, Carol and her two kids were living the high life in a snug little house, feasting on meat pies.

My two babies... they didn't last long enough for me to get back from selling my blood in town.

One froze. The other starved.

And then, after all that, my husband Tom finally came home.

He didn't shed a single tear for our children. He just looked at me and said he wanted a divorce.

"Sarah, listen," he said, "you need a marriage certificate to qualify for military housing. Carol's been looking after me all these years. I want to give her a proper home. Don't you worry, even if I marry her, I'll divorce her later. You're the only woman I've ever truly loved."

I thought I would drop dead from the sheer rage of it.

Then I woke up.

I was back on the day my boys were dying of hunger.

This time, I shook my sons awake, their small bodies frail, and I swore to God I was going to get my damn house back.

The first thing I did was pawn that worthless watch Tom had given me. Got two bucks for it, bought a pound of rice, and went home to make a thin, life-saving broth that pulled my babies back from the edge.

Once they had a little strength back, I bundled them up and dragged them to find Tom.

The bus ride was long and jarring, but we made it to the base by afternoon.

Turns out, he wasn't even that far away—less than sixty miles. For three goddamn years, he hadn't bothered to visit us once.

The guard at the gate was friendly. I told him who I was looking for, and his face lit up. "The Sergeant's wife! Right this way!" he said, practically ushering us to Tom's doorstep.

"Sergeant! Your wife! You've got visitors!" he shouted.

The door swung open.

A familiar voice called out, "Who is it?"

It was Carol. We stood there, frozen, just staring at each other.

She was dressed in a crisp white blouse and clean black trousers, her hair in a perfect bob.

I was wrapped in a coat I'd been patching up for eight years. My hair was a tangled mess, my skin leathery from the sun.

She looked like she'd stepped out of a society magazine. I looked like I'd been wrestling dirt my whole life.

Carol was clearly shocked to see me. She just stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Then Tom figured something was wrong and came to the door.

He saw me and the kids, and his eyes went wide with panic. He grabbed us and yanked us inside, his movements frantic.

He didn't even try to hide his annoyance. "Sarah, I told you not to come here! Why on earth did you bring the children?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Why did that man call Carol the Sergeant's wife?"

Tom started stammering, the color draining from his face.

Carol, having finally shut the door, rushed over. "Oh, Sarah, honey, you've got it all wrong," she said, forcing a laugh. "The boys around here are always joking. You know Tom would never..."

Tom nodded vigorously. "Yeah, it's just their stupid sense of humor. You know I'd never do anything with Carol."

Just then, a kid about four feet tall came barreling out of the back room, latched onto Tom's leg, and started whining, "Daddy, come back! You promised we'd finish Candyland!"