Chapter 7
It was almost Christmas when the wives of the senior officers showed up with two fat frozen geese.
“If it weren’t for your wife’s medicine,” one of them said, “we’d probably all he six feet under thanks to this damn desert sickness.”
“We know she’s been busy in the medical tent,” another added.
“We didn’t want to disturb her, so we brought this instead.”
“Just tell her we’re grateful, Colonel.”
Zachary stood stiff as a board, surrounded by their gratitude, feeling like a complete fraud.
He remembered scoffing when Nina first got sick.
Accused her of being dramatic, sensitive, just another spoiled officer’s wife.
He didn’t know.
Didn’t know she’d been saving their lives in silence.
The moment they left, he retreated to his quarters, his chest tight.
Sophie had just finished making his bed, smiling like the perfect Southern hostess.
Since Nina left, Sophie had been managing everything for him.
But their relationship had gone nowhere.
No spark. No warmth. Just… obligation.
When she saw the geese, something greedy flickered in her eyes.
Out here, meat was a luxury.
Even a strip of jerky was rare.
If it weren’t for clinging to Zachary’s side, she would’ve packed up and left months ago.
She reached for one of the birds.
Zachary stepped back.
“I’m sending these to Dr. Charles.”
He didn’t explain. Didn’t need to.
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Sophie froze.
Her smile faltered.
But the bitterness in her eyes almost broke the surface.
Dr. Charles never warmed to her.
Since she’d taken Nina’s place, the man had made her life a living hell–sending her to gather herbs, memorize med manuals, only letting her assist with the most basic care.
But she’d swallowed it all just to stay close to Zachary.
Zachary didn’t care.
Didn’t notice her anger.
He left the tent without a second glance.
Dr. Charles was just finishing up when Zachary showed up at his door, awkward and out of place.
“Dr. Charles. I just came to check in on you…”
The doctor snorted and poured two cups of tea without a word.
Zachary took the hint, sat down, and picked up the cup like they were old friends.
Tried to smile.
“You regret it?”
The question came out of nowhere.
Zachary froze mid–sip.
The tea, once floral and sweet, suddenly tasted like dirt and regret.
Dr. Charles watched him and smirked.
“Bitter, isn’t it?”
Zachary said nothing.
Just nodded.
The doctor refilled his cup.
“If you think this is bitter, imagine what Nina went through.”
Zachary stared into the steaming liquid, searching for a defense, and finding none.
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“I lost all respect for you the day you forced that woman on me and pushed Nina out,” the doctor said flatly,
“You knew nothing about Sophie, yet shoved her into a space that Nina built with her bare hands.”
Zachary pressed his lips together, desperate to explain.
“Dr. Charles, I know you cared about Nina.”
“I just… Sophie didn’t have anyone.”
“I was just trying to help-”
The tea slammed onto the table with a sharp crack.
Dr. Charles stormed out and returned with a brown paper bag.
He tossed it at Zachary.
“Nina asked me to make that for you before she left.”
“For your insomnia.”
He paused, jaw tight.
“But I look at you now and wonder–how the hell do you lead men when you can’t even tell friend from foe?”
“That’s the last dose I’ll ever make for you. We’re done.”
Zachary clutched the bag, the scent hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Familiar. Comforting.
He remembered yelling at Nina about that smell.
Accusing her of wasting valuable supplies just to hide her “gross blood–stink.”
He hadn’t let her speak.
Had her punished.
Ten lashes.
Now he knew.
She’d been using those herbs to help him sleep.
Not herself.
Regret came like a tidal wave.
He staggered back, chest heaving, like a man drowning in his own guilt.
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It took him a long time to recover,
When he finally got to his feet, he headed for the stables.
He saddled Whirlwind, his jet black warhorse, and rode hard toward town.
Locals had gathered.
They rushed him the moment they saw him.
Some handed over fruit, others bags of rice, wool scarves, hand–stitched boots–everything they could spare.
He was smothered in offerings.
“Wait–what’s all this for?”
An old man stepped forward, solemn.
“Colonel, I’m James.”
“I sell fruit out by the south gate.”
“Your wife… she bought my whole crop last summer.”
“Gave me enough to afford surgery and get my eyesight back.”
Another stepped up–this one younger, dressed like a scholar.
“She bought one of my paintings.”
“Said it reminded her of home.”
“That silver paid my way to New York for the bar exam. I passed.”
Then a woman with a child clinging to her skirt spoke up, tears brimming
“I was sold to a brothel after my father died.”
“She bought my freedom.”
“Found me a safe job.”
“Gave my son his mother back.”
One by one, they told their stories.
Zachary just stood there, stunned.
Memories he’d buried came rushing back.
He remembered yelling at her for buying fruit for the soldiers–called it bribery.
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Mocked her for collecting paintings–called her pretentious.
Sneered when she spent money to help the poor–said she was playing god with her checkbook.
He thought she was soft. Spoiled. Manipulative.
But she’d been quietly building roads while he tore bridges down.
She’d used every dollar, every gesture, to protect what he couldn’t see.
And now?
Now he saw it.
Too late.
On the ride back, Zachary kicked Whirlwind hard, racing against the tears.
As if speed could outrun shame.
But when he reached the base, it was no use.
Everyone saw.
Their iron–willed colonel, red–eyed and broken, holding all the things he once dismissed…
And finally realizing the woman he’d pushed away was the only one who’d ever truly stood by his side.
