I, a sixty-year-old man, was four months into my final deployment when the message came through. It was the middle of the night in my dusty corner of the world, but only afternoon back home. My daughter, Haley, who was fifteen, rarely texted me during deployments unless it was important. Usually, it was just quick “love you dad” messages. This was different.
Haley: Dad, I need to tell you something, but I’m scared.
My heart dropped. When your child texts you that from 7,000 miles away, your mind immediately goes to the darkest possible places.
Me: Whatever it is, sweetheart, you can tell me. Are you safe?
Haley: Yes, I’m safe. It’s about Mom.
Me: What about Mom?
Haley: She’s been bringing men over. Different ones. They stay late, sometimes overnight.
I stared at that text for probably ten minutes, the hum of the camp generator the only sound. My marriage, imploding via WhatsApp.
Me: Haley, I am so sorry you have had to see that.
Haley: I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t want to tell you while you’re over there, but it’s been going on for weeks and I don’t know what to do.
Me: Thank you for your honesty, sweetheart. This must have been incredibly hard for you to tell me. Are you mad at me?
Haley: Never. You did the right thing. How are you handling this?
Haley: I stay in my room mostly. Put headphones on. Mom thinks I don’t know.
Me: And your brother?