We were pinned behind a rusted-out Toyota pickup, bullets stitching dust trails in the sand. I tasted metal in my mouth—probably fear, maybe blood. Mendes was next to me, calm as hell, reloading like it was just another drill.
That was the day he yanked me out by my vest when shrapnel got my leg. Threw me over his back and ran me past a wall of gunfire like I weighed nothing. If he hadn’t—well, I wouldn’t be writing this. He saved my life. No debate.
After we got back stateside, I spiraled. Pain meds, nightmares, the usual cocktail. My marriage was already wobbling before the deployment, and when I came home a mess, Laleh didn’t know what to do with me. I don’t blame her, not entirely. She asked me to get help. I didn’t. I just got quieter. Meaner.
We separated a year later. Divorce finalized in the fall. Mendes was the only one who still called me, checked in. I figured he was just being loyal, you know? Brothers in arms and all that.
Then last week, my cousin sent me a photo from Instagram. Mendes and Laleh at some vineyard in Sonoma. Her hand on his chest. A ring on hers.
I stared at the screen for a long time. Thought maybe I was seeing things. But the caption said it clear as day: “Forever started here.”
I haven’t said anything to either of them yet. Not a word. But tomorrow, Mendes is flying into town—for what he thinks is just a beer and a catch-up—
I picked the place. Some low-key sports bar near the highway, dim lighting, cheap wings, a little too loud. Mendes walked in five minutes late, looking like he hadn’t aged a day. Still wore that damn olive jacket, frayed at the cuffs.
“Still breathing, huh?” he grinned, giving me a back-slap hug.
I nodded, forcing a smile. “Barely.”
He sat across from me, ordered a beer like it was just another Tuesday. I waited, gave him a minute to get comfortable. But he didn’t bring it up. Not Laleh. Not the engagement. Just talked about work, and a fishing trip he took with his brother.
Finally, I said it.
“I saw the picture.”
He froze for half a second. Just long enough to know he knew what I meant.
“She was gonna tell you,” he said. “We didn’t plan for it to happen like this.”
“Like what? You mean falling in love with my wife?”
“She’s not your wife anymore.”
I clenched my jaw, looked away. He wasn’t wrong. But it still hit like a punch.
“I didn’t touch her while you two were married,” he added. “Not once.”
“Right, that makes it better.”
He sighed. “Look, man. I didn’t come here to fight. I came because I still respect you. I owe you everything. But Laleh… we connected. And it’s real.”
I finished my beer in one long sip. The air between us felt thicker than that desert heat back in Kandahar.
“Then I guess congratulations are in order,” I said, even though I barely recognized my own voice.
We left it there. He paid the bill before I could argue, and we walked out like old buddies, even though it felt like something final had just broken off inside me.
That night, I barely slept. Kept picturing them—laughing, holding hands, living the life I used to have. The one I lost, not just because of the war, but because I gave up trying.
I spent the next few weeks in a weird haze. Every text from Mendes made my stomach twist. Every memory of Laleh felt like it had been overwritten by him.
Then I got a call from my mom. Said she ran into Laleh at the pharmacy. Said Laleh looked tired. Worn down. Not happy.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Mother’s intuition,” she replied. “She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.”
I didn’t want to read into it, but I did. Of course I did.
So I did what any pathetic, still-hung-up ex-husband might do. I started checking Laleh’s social media again. Her pictures with Mendes looked… off. Posed. Not like before.
And then came the twist.
My sister-in-law, Ramya, called me out of the blue. Said she had something I needed to know. Apparently, Laleh had called her, crying. Said Mendes had changed. Was cold. Controlling. Different now that the ring was on.
I didn’t want to believe it. Mendes had flaws, sure. But he wasn’t that guy.
Still, curiosity got the best of me. I sent Laleh a text.
Me: “I know I’m the last person you want to hear from. Just checking in.”
She replied an hour later.
Laleh: “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
We talked. Nothing deep, just safe topics. But it opened the door.
Over the next few weeks, we messaged more often. It wasn’t romantic—it wasn’t even flirty. But it felt… familiar. Comfortable. She told me things weren’t what she thought they’d be. Mendes had a temper. He drank more now. Wasn’t violent, but distant. Jealous.
Part of me hated hearing that. The other part felt justified. Like I hadn’t been crazy, or overreacting.
Then came the kicker.
She said she found out Mendes had been talking to someone else. Some woman he’d met at a conference for work. Nothing physical—at least, not that she knew of—but enough to make her feel like a fool.
And just like that, the whole house of cards crumbled.
She didn’t leave him right away. That’s not who she is. Laleh’s a processor. She weighs every angle. Makes sure she’s not running just because things are hard.
But three months later, she was out. Packed up, moved in with her cousin. Filed for a second divorce.
I didn’t gloat. Didn’t say “I told you so.” I just listened.
One night, we were on the phone. She paused for a long time, then said, “I should’ve fought harder for us.”
That one sentence hit me harder than anything.
“I should’ve too,” I said.
And we left it there.
We didn’t get back together right away. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure that’s where it was going. There was too much history. Too much scar tissue.
But slowly, we started rebuilding something. As friends first. Then more.
I got clean. For real this time. Therapy, support groups, the whole bit. Not for her, but for me. Because I finally wanted to show up in my own life.
One Sunday morning, I met her at the park. She was sitting on a bench, sipping coffee, hair pulled back, no makeup. She looked peaceful.
And I realized—I loved her more now than I ever did before. Not because she was “mine” again, but because I saw her clearly. And I was finally showing up as the man she deserved.
Mendes? He left town. Took a job in Texas. We haven’t talked since. I don’t hate him anymore. I did for a while, but not now.
In some twisted way, he helped us get here. He forced everything into the open.
And maybe that’s what needed to happen.
It’s been two years now. Laleh and I aren’t rushing anything. We’ve talked about the future, but we’re taking our time. No labels. Just honesty.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
Sometimes the people who save your life don’t stay in it. And sometimes, losing something forces you to become the version of yourself that was buried under the pain.
If you’re holding onto guilt, or bitterness, or regret—let it go. Not for them. For you.
Because healing doesn’t always come in the form of closure. Sometimes it comes in second chances, quiet mornings, and the grace to admit where you messed up.
And if someone still sees your worth, even after you’ve been broken? Don’t take that for granted.
