Kristina-Anne said little on the way home, but whenever Rick looked at her, she smiled at him. She squeezed his hand, she breathed, and she made herself his home again, in that strange, miraculous way she always had.

In their living room, he took her shoulders in both hands and held her away so he could look into her eyes. It was finally time; he had to know. “Why did you stay with me?”

Her expression was one of shock, at the question, or maybe at the timing? “Why did I—”

“When I got arrested.” He looked down. “Because after that, I was broken,” he said. “I’m still broken.” He looked around the room.

She grabbed his chin and forced his face up. “You were broken before you went to prison, Rick, and it was worse then than it ever was afterward.” She looked around the room too, as if becoming aware of it for the first time. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you just picked your wife up from the hospital after she tried to kill herself. Again.”

Rick chuckled despite himself—she’d always had a dark sense of humor—then looked down. “Right.”

He couldn’t let it go. “When you say I was broken before—”

“The women.” She gave him an ironic smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Rick.” She looked tired. “The therapist said I wouldn’t get better if I kept hiding from things, and she’s right.”

He sighed. He’d always suspected she’d known, and that’s why he’d never asked her why she stayed. Shame welled up within him.

He was different then, of course—young, dumb, and full of himself. So what if he had a beautiful wife at home? Back then, he was moving up the ranks, and with that came groupies. He hadn’t known a single fighter who wasn’t getting action on the side.

But that didn’t make it okay. That hadn’t prevented it from straining his relationship.

“If you knew, why did you stay?”

She sighed, and the look on her face killed him right there in their living room. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Rick.” She shook her head. “I think you’re the only man I can love.”

His look was one of incredulity. “There are so many men you could have had, babe. So many—”

“And I don’t want a damned one of them.” She collapsed onto the couch and lay there, looking up at him. After a time, she said, “Sucks to be me, right?” She smiled, though it was somehow sad. “You’re better now.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

She sighed again. “They asked a lot about you at the hospital, you know? Asked if you hit me.”

He winced.

“I told them the truth. I said, ‘Not once in fifteen years of marriage, and not once before that.’”

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He sighed, and a faint smile touched his lips.

“But that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt me, Rick.”

He started to step back, but she sat up and motioned for him to sit next to her. When he did, a broken spring poked into him and he shifted.

She grabbed his hand. “I love you more now than I did when we first got married, you know that? They didn’t break you.”

He looked at her and she looked at the ceiling. “Well, they did, but what they really did was force you to deal with yourself. I’m not saying it was right, or that you needed that sort of…” She sighed again. “What they did to you wasn’t right, but if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have the man you are now.”

He pulled his hand away and his laugh was bitter. “No, you’d be with someone who made something out of himself.” He kicked the leg of the coffee table and paint flecked off. “You sure as hell wouldn’t be living in the slums.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if you realize how smart and beautiful you are.”

“Oh, I know.” She raised her hands and shook them, approximating ‘dance hands.’ “But I’m gorgeous and nuts.”

He hugged her, inhaling the scent of her hair and gently kissing her neck just behind her ear, and she hugged him back. He luxuriated in her presence—in the Kristine-Anne-ness of her. He stroked her back, then pulled back to look at her.

He’d never tell her. It would kill him to carry it alone, but he’d never, ever tell her he’d lost their only chance at the life she wanted.

******************************************************

He’d gotten up early, careful not to disturb his wife as he did. Unused to getting up at four in the morning, it had taken two cups of coffee and a trip to the bathroom before he’d gotten on the AR array to look for work.

It wasn’t there. He’d thought the postings were sparse last year when he found Hector, but there were still fewer now. Even freelance gig work was in short supply, as it seemed some Silicon Valley “disruptor” had created a shockingly good employee-locating algorithm. Employers now called their prospective hires first, based on what the algo predicted. As an ex-con, a great many of the gaps in Rick’s resume didn’t signify gaps at all, but under-the-table work he couldn’t claim in an initial inquiry. In the interview, most employers for the kinds of work he went for understood that under-the-table jobs were a normal part of being an ex-con, but now that the algorithm ran more and more of the process for finding work, Rick never got the interview to explain the gaps.

He rubbed his tired eyes and glanced toward the bedroom as Kristina-Anne creaked it open.

“Is it safe to come out?”

Rick sighed. “Yeah, I’m just—”

“I know. Any luck?”

Rick disconnected the array from his implant and stood. “Not a single goddamned prospect.”

“It’s only the first day.”

He shook his head. “It’s not gonna look any better tomorrow—Jesus Christ, even compared to last year—”

“New algorithm,” she said.

Rick balled up his fists. “I know!”

Kristina winced and he lowered his voice. “I know. Did you have any luck getting around it last time you…”

She sighed. “It was two years ago, but I could still get an interview.” She looked down. “Not that it mattered.” She looked back up at him. “You’ve got holes because you’ve worked under the table. That’s easier than explaining my, uh… vacations.”

He nodded. He’d find something because he had to find something. “You hungry?”

She nodded. “We have eggs?”

“Whatever we had when you…”

She started for the kitchen. “Probably still good. Anything’s better than the scrambled eggs they gave us on the ward.”

He followed her into the kitchen and poured a last cup of coffee, then thought of her. “You want coffee?”

“Oh my God, you have no idea.”

Rick handed her his full cup. “I’ll make another pot.” He’d had the hospital’s instant coffee when he’d visited. “Why is the hospital’s coffee so bad?”

She shrugged. “The nurses say if you’re feeling good enough to bitch about the coffee, you’re not sick enough to be in the hospital.”

“Didn’t know prison guards and nurses had so much in common.”

She laughed.

He joined her for her late breakfast—his lunch—then got back to the AR array. His eyes blurred six hours later. He was in the kitchen getting his third beer when the array dinged.

It had dinged on and off during the day, and usually it was just promotional email. He didn’t have the money to opt out of those either. He took a swallow of beer on the way back before hooking back into the array.

The message was from Alex. He read it, then read it again. His heart raced.