He Disarmed Every Bomb Except Our Marriage

My husband, Nathan Cross, was the city’s top bomb squad commander. He had defused countless explosives and saved hundreds of lives. Yet, he never once thought to fix our crumbling marriage. The day I asked for a divorce was our fifth wedding anniversary. At nine in the morning, I sat by the TV, watching the live broadcast as he calmly snipped a detonator wire. At ten-fifty, the crisis was averted. The camera caught Nathan with his arm wrapped around his assistant, Sierra Vance, giving an interview. His eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. "I couldn’t have made it this far without Sierra," he told the reporters. "She's spent every late night by my side." I listened, my hand resting gently on my slightly swollen belly. A numb chill settled deep in my chest. At one-thirty in the afternoon, my phone chimed with a text from him: [Working overtime. Won't be home for dinner.] Moments later, Sierra’s Ins story updated: a video of Nathan leaning close, tenderly fastening a diamond necklace around her throat. I turned off my screen, walked to the dining table, and threw away the four-course dinner I had spent four hours preparing. At eight-twenty in the evening, Sierra posted again. Bright fireworks lit up the night sky, and Nathan sat beside her, laughing freely. In our five years of marriage, days like this had become the routine. I was used to it. I was numb. At eleven-fifty-eight, the front door clicked open. Nathan walked in, carrying the faint smell of gunpowder and fireworks. I looked up at him. "Today was our fifth anniversary." Nathan froze, as if just remembering. But his guilt didn't last a second. He shrugged it off casually. "Sorry. I’ll make it up to you next time." "No need." I pulled the folder from my bag and slid it across the table. "Nathan, let's get a divorce." Nathan glanced at the papers but didn't take them. Frowning, he took on that lecture tone he always used with me. "Don't throw a tantrum, Chloe. Didn't you see the news? I was busy saving lives." "I’ll put in for leave tomorrow. We’ll do dinner, and I’ll buy you a gift. Put the papers away. Don't pull this again." I picked up the pen and pressed it into his hand. "I'm not throwing a tantrum." "Nathan, I'm truly done living like this." Nathan’s jaw clenched. He clearly thought I was being ungrateful and irrational. He gave me a hard, cold look. "Chloe, are you serious?" "You're out of your mind asking for a divorce in the middle of the night. Tomorrow morning, when you come to your senses and beg me to take you back, I won't care." I nodded calmly, letting him know I understood. Seeing my stubborn silence, Nathan lost what little patience he had left. He snatched the divorce agreement from my hands, scribbled his signature across the bottom, and tossed the papers back onto my lap. Ding-dong. The living room wall clock chimed. I glanced over. Midnight sharp. On the exact day of our fifth anniversary, Nathan and I were finished. A bitter smile pulled at my lips, accompanied by a sharp, suffocating ache in my chest. I had planned to tell him about the baby tonight. But when I looked up, the master bedroom door slammed shut, rattling the frame. Nathan had always been like this. My feelings never mattered to him. Whether I was angry or heartbroken, it had nothing to do with him. Over the past five years, whenever I got upset, I would sleep in the guest room. Nathan never once came to check on me. Only when I couldn't bear the silent treatment anymore and moved my pillows back into the master bedroom would he look up and say lazily: "Done making a scene?" Whenever our mutual acquaintances asked me: "Nathan is such an intense, powerful guy—does he spoil you when you two fight?" I could only give them an empty smile and reply: "We... we never fight." They would sigh in envy, complimenting how mature our love was. To me, every word felt like a slap in the face. Only I knew the humiliating truth: Nathan simply never considered me worth arguing with. I swallowed the lump in my throat, grabbed my packed suitcase, and walked out into the cold night. The next morning at nine, I didn't have to rush out of bed to cook Nathan breakfast. For the first time in years, I slept in. When I reached for my phone, I saw two missed messages sent at seven-thirty: [You're not home? You stayed out all night?] [Where the hell are you? Call me the second you read this.] I stared at the screen, thought for a moment, and typed a short reply: [Pick a day this week so we can head to City Hall and file the paperwork.] Within five minutes, my phone rang. Nathan’s name flashed across the screen. I was genuinely surprised. When we first got married, I was clingy. I loved calling him to share little details about my day. Nathan's reaction was always cold. He had even snapped at me twice: "Your calls have zero substance, Chloe. My time is valuable, and I don't appreciate you wasting it." "Next time, just text. If it's important, I'll reply." Yet, I had overheard him on the phone with Sierra. His voice would drop to a gentle, teasing murmur. He would spend forty minutes discussing new dress styles and lipstick shades with her, chuckling softly: "Talking to you is never boring. Knowing what my assistant likes is part of my job." I had cried my eyes out over that. It changed nothing. Whenever I called him after that, he declined the call immediately. Eventually, we stopped talking on the phone altogether. I swiped to answer. "Hello? What is it?" Nathan’s voice was clipped and irritated. "Where are you running off to in the middle of the night? Send me your location." "I took the day off. I'm coming to pick you up so we can celebrate our anniversary properly." I paused, feeling a faint wave of exhaustion. "You don't need to. Nathan, we already signed the divorce papers last night." There was dead silence on the other end. I hesitated, then added gently, "If you're free today, we should probably stop by your mom's place and let her know." Beep. Beep. Beep. He hung up on me. I let out a soft sigh, long accustomed to his dismissive attitude. I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, and bought a basket of fresh fruit to take to Evelyn's apartment. Whether Nathan showed up or not, his mother deserved to hear the truth from me. At two-thirty in the afternoon, I arrived outside Evelyn’s building. Just as I walked toward the lobby entrance, a familiar black sedan pulled up. The door opened, and Nathan stepped out. Our eyes met. Before I could even offer a polite nod, the passenger door flew open. A young, smiling face popped out, waving enthusiastically at me. "Chloe! What a coincidence!" It was Sierra."Nathan takes such good care of me at work," Sierra chirped, falling into step beside him. "Since he was coming to see his mom today, I figured I’d drop by and pay my respects too." "Right," I answered flatly, showing no emotion. Sierra leaned in closer, offering an apologetic pout. "Chloe, Nathan mentioned you two had a fight yesterday?" "Because he missed your anniversary dinner? Honestly, it’s all my fault. Nathan wanted to rush straight home the moment the bomb threat was cleared. But I was so wound up, I dragged him shopping and made him watch the fireworks with me. That’s why he was late." She blinked wide, innocent eyes at me. There was no real remorse there—only a bright, triumphant smirk. "I’m so, so sorry, Chloe. Please don't be mad at him, okay?" I turned my head, looking her dead in the eye. "We didn't have a fight. We're getting a divorce." Ding. The elevator doors slid open at that exact moment. I walked out without another glance and knocked on Evelyn’s door. The door opened. Evelyn's face lit up when she saw me and Nathan, but the second her eyes shifted to Sierra standing right behind him, her smile vanished. "Come on in," she said, her voice dropping. The living room wasn't particularly large. Sierra slipped in right after Nathan, sitting down so close to him on the main sofa that their shoulders touched. There was no room left, so I quietly moved to the armchair across from them. After a few polite pleasantries, I set down my cup and spoke up: "Evelyn, there’s something I need to tell you. Nathan and I—" "Chloe!" Nathan cut me off with a sharp snap. Before I could react, his fingers clamped around my wrist, hauling me out onto the balcony and sliding the glass door shut behind us. "Do you seriously have to push this to a point of no return?" he hissed, his eyes blazing with irritation. "I told you I’m trying to make it up to you!" He paced like a caged animal. "When our families set us up, I warned you my job was high-risk and demanding. I told you I wouldn't always be there to hold your hand. You handled it just fine for five years! I even agreed to reschedule our anniversary date. Why the hell are you insisting on a divorce now?" I twisted my wrist free from his grip and looked at him calmly. "Because I'm done enduring it." "When you did that live interview yesterday, you thanked everyone. First Sierra, then your mother, then your mentors, your team... not a single word about me. You claim your work leaves you no free time, yet you have hours to shop and watch fireworks with Sierra. You just never have time to come home and eat a meal with your wife." Nathan stared at me in complete disbelief. Without missing a beat, he asked: "Isn't that just what being a stay-at-home wife is?" I froze. A sudden, deep chill settled around my heart. It hurt. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over my lashes as I whispered: "A stay-at-home wife, maybe. But that is not a partner." Nathan didn't understand. He just looked at my tear-streaked face with profound annoyance, baffled as to why a simple logical conversation had made me cry. Before he could speak, the glass door slid open, and Sierra burst onto the balcony. Without a word of warning, she dropped straight to her knees in front of me, grabbing the hem of my pants in tears. "I knew it... you still blame me, Chloe. You can't forgive me!" "It's all my fault! I'll put in my two weeks' notice tomorrow. I’ll quit, I’ll transfer out of the department, I’ll stay far away from Nathan—" In an instant, Nathan’s attention was completely stolen away. He didn't see my tears anymore. Panic washed over his face as he scrambled to pull Sierra up from the cold floor. "Sierra, get up right now! This has nothing to do with you!" "Quit? Are you out of your mind? If you leave, what am I supposed to do? The squad can't function without you!" His words hung heavy in the air. It didn't sound like the squad couldn't survive without Sierra. It sounded like Nathan couldn't. Sierra looked up at him through teary lashes, wrapping her arms around his waist and collapsing softly against his chest. Bold. Shameless. Victorious. I couldn't stomach another second of it. I turned, gave a brief, quiet goodbye to Evelyn inside, and walked out the door. Behind me, Nathan’s voice barked out: "Chloe!" But his voice quickly dropped, softening back into gentle murmurs as he consoled Sierra. He didn't run after me. He never did. At seven that evening, my phone vibrated with a text from Nathan: [I'm sorry.] I let out a long, hollow breath and didn't reply. Five years of quiet neglect and heartbreak couldn't be erased by three miserable letters on a screen. I left my phone on the counter and stepped into the shower. When I came out, wrapped in a towel, another notification lit up my screen: [I agree to the divorce. Tomorrow morning at ten. Meet me outside City Hall.]At nine-fifty the next morning, I stood on the sidewalk outside City Hall. People bustled in and out of the front doors, but Nathan was nowhere in sight. Just as I pulled out my phone to dial his number, a pair of sharp designer heels stopped right in front of me. "I’m the one who texted you." Sierra stood there, arms crossed over her chest, wearing an unnatural, tight smile. "Nathan drank way too much last night. He's still passed out. I wanted to talk to you woman-to-woman, so I used his phone to send that text." "Just ten minutes. It won't take long." I hesitated, then nodded and followed her. She led me off the main street, turning down a quiet, shaded alley. The farther we walked, the more deserted and rundown the path became. An uneasy knot tightened in my gut, and I stopped walking. "If you have something to say, say it right here." Sierra turned around, flashing a sweet smile as she reached for my arm. "Come on, Chloe. There’s a quiet coffee shop right around the corner. It’s private." I looked down the desolate, dead-end alleyway. There was no way a coffee shop existed in a derelict lane like this. Instinct screamed at me to run. I yanked my arm back from her grip, spinning around to bolt. The fake smile on Sierra’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a vicious snarl as she screamed: "I brought her! Grab her, now!" I whipped around in shock, staring at Sierra. Before my brain could process what was happening, a brutal blow slammed into the back of my neck. White-hot pain ripped through my skull, draining every ounce of strength from my limbs. My knees gave out, and I crashed hard onto the cold stone pavement. Through my blurring, fading vision, I saw Sierra strut toward me with a smug sneer, kicking my limp shoulder. But before she could speak, a heavy wooden club swung out from the shadows behind her. Crack. Sierra crumbled to the ground right beside me. In the final second before blackness swallowed me whole, my hands instinctively curled over my lower stomach, desperate to protect the tiny life inside me. When I opened my eyes again, the low, grumbling voices of two men drifted from the front seat of a speeding van. "Boss, this was a genius move!" "We got both his wife and his little side piece. Cross has no choice but to show up now. We’re finally making that bastard pay for putting Spike behind bars!" The driver, a burly man, grunted darkly. He slammed his foot on the gas, speeding toward the abandoned industrial outskirts of the city. My vision swam as a tearing, agonizing cramp seized my lower abdomen. It hurt so much I couldn't breathe. The violent jolts of the van tossed me around, and the pain pulled me back under into darkness. Wailing sirens woke me. My eyes fluttered open to flashing red and blue lights. A heavy police perimeter had cordoned off the entire warehouse floor, surrounding Sierra and me. I looked down. Both Sierra and I were strapped into complex, homemade explosive vests. The wires were tangled together, linked to a single countdown timer. Nathan was sprinting frantically toward us across the concrete floor. The timer only allowed enough time to defuse one bomb. In other words, Nathan could only save one of us. Sierra clutched desperately at Nathan’s tactical vest, sobbing hysterically: "Nathan! Please, save me!" "I don't want to die! Please, I'm begging you!" I didn't have the strength to scream. The cramps in my stomach were coming in violent, crushing waves. I knew something was terribly wrong with the baby. All I could do was reach out with trembling fingers, weakly clutching Nathan’s sleeve. "It hurts... Nathan, my stomach hurts so bad..." "Nathan... the baby..." Nathan’s mind was in total chaos. He didn't even have the patience to lean down and listen to my muffled whimpers. For the first time in his career, his hands shook so hard he didn't know which wire to cut. The agony between my hips was tearing me apart. Using the last scrap of air in my lungs, I gasped out: "Nathan... Sierra set this up with them!" "She took your phone... she lured me to that alley..."Sierra’s frantic shrieks instantly drowned out my voice: "No! No! Nathan, you have to believe me!" "She’s lying! Chloe is making things up just so you'll pick her! I don't know these men! Nathan, we’ve worked side by side for three years. You know who I am!" Nathan hesitated, caught in a panic. In the chaos, his gloved hand reached out and gripped mine tightly. My heart leapt into my throat. For one fleeting, desperate second, I thought that between life and death, he had finally chosen me. Then, in the very next breath, his wire cutters came down. *Snip.* The sharp click echoed through the air. The wire he had severed was the one wrapped around Sierra's chest. He hauled the trembling assistant to her feet and shoved her toward the perimeter: "Sierra, run! Get out of here!" "If the timer blows, at least you'll survive!" Sierra stumbled backward, scrambling frantically past the yellow tape to safety. I stared at Nathan in sheer, paralyzed disbelief. Unable to look me in the eye, he turned his head away, staring fixatedly at the wires left on my chest. "You... you didn't believe me?" I whispered. Nathan ground his teeth, his voice harsh and defensive without looking up. "I’ve known Sierra for three years. Do you have any idea how many tough cases she pulled me through? How much PR crap she handled for me?" "Sierra is not capable of something like this!" A broken, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Tears tracked hot down my cheeks. "Nathan... we’ve been married for five years." "You really think I would lie about this?" Nathan fell silent. His silence was my answer. The physical agony in my body had reached the point of numbness. I could feel something warm and thick trickling down my inner thighs, slowly soaking through my jeans and staining the cold dirt beneath me. Nathan glanced up, his expression full of disappointment. "Chloe, I won't hold it against you for falsely accusing Sierra. When death is staring you in the face, anyone would say anything to survive." "But once I get you out of this vest, I expect you to give her a proper apology." I didn't answer. I didn't even have the strength to part my lips. Nathan took my silence as an admission of guilt. He let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening into what he probably thought was generous compromise: "Don't be scared. Those two scumbags didn't know how to wire a proper circuit. I can get you out of this." "Just drop the divorce talk after this, okay? I’ll make more time for you at home. Deal?" I only managed a ghastly, hollow smile. I stopped looking at him. My gaze drifted up to the gray, dusty rafters above, letting my mind go completely blank. Until my spine gave out, and my limp body began to tilt sideways. Nathan thought I was throwing another tantrum. He barked sharply: "Chloe, stop messing around!" "I'm about to cut the final lead. Why are you squirming?!" He reached an arm around my waist to haul me upright. *Click.* The wire severed. The timer died. The hazard was cleared, and the bomb squad rushed forward to haul the explosive device away. Seeing me slumped lifelessly against the floor, Nathan let out an irritated sigh and bent down to scoop me into his arms. The moment his hand slid beneath my hips, he froze completely. The texture was wrong. He pulled his hand back instinctively, looking down at his palm— His fingers were drenched in thick, dark crimson blood. It was dripping steadily through his knuckles. I weakly forced my heavy eyelids open, just in time to see the color drain completely from his face. In the next second, paramedics shoved their way through the cordon, snatching my limp body from his arms as someone screamed in panic: "She's miscarrying! It's a massive hemorrhage!" "BP is plummeting, she's going into shock! Get the gurney! We need an emergency trauma team NOW!"