The Widow Who Stole My Life

My husband, that two-timing bastard, gave me his love letters, but gave all his money to his brother's widow, Carol.

He said Carol needed the respectability that came with being a military wife, so he took her with him when he shipped out, leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere.

Every month, I'd get three sappy, love-struck letters from him—but every last dime of his paycheck went straight to her.

The year the Dust Bowl swept through, Carol and her two kids were living cozy in a little house, eating meat pies.

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

One froze. The other starved.

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

He didn't shed a single tear for our children. Just looked me in the eye and said he wanted a divorce.

"Listen, Sarah," he said, "you need a marriage certificate to qualify for military housing. Carol's been taking care of me all these years. I wanna give her a home. Don't you worry—even if I marry her, I'll divorce her later. You're the only one I truly love."

I nearly dropped dead from the rage.

Then I woke up.

Back on the day my boys were dying of hunger.

This time, I shook my sons awake and made up my mind: I was getting my damn house back.

First thing I did was pawn that worthless watch Tom gave me. Got two bucks for it. Bought a pound of rice, went home, and made a thin broth that brought my babies back from the edge.

Once they had a little strength back, I bundled them up and went looking for Tom.

The ride was rough, but we made it to the base by afternoon.

Turns out he wasn't even that far away—less than sixty miles. And in three damn years, he hadn't come to see us once.

The guard was friendly. I told him who I was, and he practically dragged us over to Tom's place.

"Sergeant! Sergeant's wife! You got visitors!"

The door swung open.

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

Carol and I stood frozen, staring at each other.

She was wearing a crisp white blouse and clean black slacks, her hair neatly bobbed.

I was in a patched-up coat I'd been wearing eight years straight. My hair was a tangled mess, my skin rough and sun-beaten.

She looked like one of those society ladies from the magazines. I looked like I'd been dug out of the dirt.

Carol clearly hadn't expected me. She just stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Then Tom realized something was wrong and came out.

He saw me and the kids, and his eyes went wide. He grabbed us and yanked us inside like he was panicked.

He didn't even try to hide his annoyance.

"Sarah, I told you not to come here. Why did you bring the kids?"

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

Tom stuttered, his face turning pale.

Carol finally shut the door and hurried in. When she heard my question, she cut in, "Oh, Sarah, honey, you've got it all wrong. They're just joking around."

Tom nodded quickly. "Yeah, the guys are always pulling stupid jokes. You know I wouldn't do anything with Carol."

Just then, a kid about four feet tall came running out of the other room, grabbed Tom's leg, and whined, "Daddy, why'd you leave? Let's go back to Candyland!"