Outcast and the Cast Away

Outcast and the Cast Away

Tragedy and timing change lives

This one twists a rarely used trope. If not for the actual tragedy, it could have been titled "Out of Sync." Enjoy the story.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

[copyright 2025, all rights reserved, including section 107 of US and international copyright law. Conversion of this work to audio file is strictly prohibited.]

I was utterly exhausted, but I couldn't sleep to save my life. That was partially because I was sitting in a waiting area at LRMC, a US military hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. Another reason was that my wife was sleeping soundly in her room down the hallway. I'd spent thirteen weeks, fearing the worst.

You see, my wife, Stella Dawson, had disappeared on the job in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Her job, or at least her duties, had expanded recently. When we first met twenty years ago, she was a student in marine biology. She had told me she knew exactly what she wanted to do since she was thirteen. That was the year her family vacationed at SeaWorld, and while waiting in line to see Shamu, she and her family were picked to star in the show, as was a tradition at the park.

When she first got the position at NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration), Stella was as excited as I'd ever seen her, right up there with our wedding and honeymoon. But, within two months, she was reassigned to a team meant to study ocean wind patterns in the Indian Ocean.

That far removed my wife from her love for sea mammals. I, Tom Dawson, had not seen her that distraught since we discovered we couldn't have children. She was charting and graphing ocean water temperatures, which I thought had to be mind-numbing.

Back then, we solved the pregnancy issue by deciding to adopt. Our daughter Caitlyn, now 23, was in her final year of college. But Caitlyn didn't come struggle-free.

As I sat there, tired and alone, I thought about our lives; little snippets crossed my mind.

I was one year ahead of Stella at UNC, even though we were the same age. I probably walked past her dozens of times on campus. She was in the Applied Sciences building, and I was earning a degree in accounting. Somehow, our paths crossed at the homecoming football game when I was a senior. During a long touchdown pass, the guy next to me got overly excited and sent my beer flying, mostly all over Stella, who was seated two rows below me.

Something about that face, her eyes, specifically, got my attention. I remember thinking, "If she can be that beautiful when angry, what kind of treat must she be when she's happy?"

I calmed her, offered to pay to clean her clothes, and left with her number. The rest, as they say, is history. I waited for her to graduate, and we saw each other often, since my hometown had always been twenty-five minutes from campus. We were married less than a year after she finished school.

Both sets of parents were happy, or if they weren't, neither Stella nor I knew it. Stella's inability to find meaningful work in her field was the one thing that brought difficulty to our marriage during those early years. There were just too damned many marine biologists.

Stella finally took a job on campus for one of her old instructors. I knew it wasn't what she wanted, but Stella did her best to make lemonade with lemons. She threw herself into her job and was promoted twice within the department.

In the meantime, we put our efforts into starting a family. Unfortunately, something was wrong. In our second year of marriage, we decided to get tested, since we'd gone a year trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant. Stella had an issue that meant we could never have the children we both desperately wanted.

One year later, we made some decisions, retained an attorney, and were in a room waiting to meet our new four-year-old daughter. Stella took an indefinite leave from her entry-level job - no one there expected her to return - to raise our daughter.

And we were happy. Caitlyn was a joy that brought meaning and purpose to our lives, just like we'd talked about for so long. Our parents were ecstatic. Both sets had kids later in life, so their clocks were ticking.

But, as our pride and joy grew, she became quite the handful. Sassiness turned to rebellion and then outright indignation. Counseling helped only to the point that we learned about her possible reasons for acting out. Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) was the long-awaited diagnosis. That only helped me a little bit. RAD was a relatively new diagnosis, less than a decade old. There was very little information about how to treat her.

We did our best, or at least I think we did. I don't know what more could have been done. I think we officially lost Caitlyn when her friend in high school got a car. We wouldn't buy one for her because she was always in trouble or grounded.

Stella wanted to return to her field of study when Caitlyn started high school, but that was another byproduct of our daughter's behavior. My wife remained home, with stunted dreams, while trying too hard to get our wayward girl on track. I kept encouraging her to update her resume and start looking, telling her we'd done all we could for Caitlyn.

When Cait left the family home in a sudden and spiteful way that devastated both of us, Stella went into a funk for several weeks. She then sent her resume to NOAA and was hired just three weeks later. I was both proud and happy for my wife. She deserved something for herself after all the tribulations our adopted kid had heaped onto her. My reminiscing was interrupted by someone calling my name.

My deep thoughts were interrupted by a young, good-looking doctor who came into the waiting area. He explained the litany of Stella's injuries, but her malnutrition had triggered a cascade of organs to deteriorate and begin to shut down.

"The good news is that we caught all of this in time," he reassured. Why couldn't he have started with that and saved me the chest pain? "Two to seven more days on the island, and I don't think she would have survived. She has lost nearly forty pounds and is gaunt. You can see her for a few moments now, and then she needs her rest. Her feeding is being assisted with tubes. You can see her again in the morning, and we'll play it by ear."

Stella really looked like shit. I mean that in the most compassionate way possible. I tried not to show the shock on my face for her benefit, but I knew even in her grogginess, she could see it.

I moved quickly to her and hugged her malnourished body while trying not to dislodge the tubes and leads. Stella gave me a weak, yet brave smile that I'd come to know well over the years. She touched my face.

"Bet you thought you were rid of me," she said with a wan smile. Something seemed off, but I chalked it up to everything that had happened.

"I could never want that," I said, choking up. "I'm so happy to see your face, Stella. I was worried sick that I never would."

Tears immediately formed at the corners of her eyes. For many years we had only ever used our pet names for each other or 'babe.' Hearing me call her by her proper name triggered that emotion.

"I wanted to... no, I HAD to see you," I admitted. "I know you must rest now. Everything is going to be okay. You sleep now, and you can tell me all about it tomorrow when I return."

Stella looked at me lovingly, which sparked more tears of happiness as she put her hand weakly against my cheek. I held her hand there as she closed her eyes and drifted off.

I didn't want to leave the hospital, so I told the lead nurse at the desk. She said it was irregular for them to put me up, but under the circumstances, they had a vacant room with a shower. I made a few calls to let people back home know what was happening.

I needed to make four calls to update the crucial people in our lives. My sister talked a mile a minute, wanting to know everything, even things I didn't know. Caitlyn sounded happy that her mother was alive and improving. Carol, a good friend of Stella's from the institute, deserved a call because she was instrumental in liaising between them and me as the search progressed.

I hesitated making the final call because I suddenly felt... ashamed. Someone I knew very well had been invited into my life again to help me through Stella's disappearance. I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of, so why did I feel that way?

Tammy feigned joyfulness and asked how I was doing at every turn. Later, as I lay in bed, I thought about the last thirteen weeks. My sister, Sabrina, was my only living relative. My parents had both passed during the previous five years, as well as Stella's father. That last part cascaded into deep loneliness for Stella's mom, who ended up in an assisted living center. Sabrina was there for me when we got the news that Stella's ship looked to have been commandeered by pirates and had somehow exploded.

But my younger sister had her own family, two small children, and a husband who loved her dearly, enough to send her to me in my hour of need. Sabrina took in the situation and analyzed it for what it was. Nine days after the dreadful news, on a Saturday, there was a knock on my front door and I was shocked when I answered it.

Tammy stepped right into my arms without fanfare. Even in my puzzled state, her familiar perfume lit up my senses as it had in days long passed. Breaking the embrace, we pulled back slightly, studying each other's faces.

Tammy was my high school girlfriend for the entire senior year of high school. In a small town like ours, our paths had crossed many times until she married and left the area ten years prior with her husband. Stella trusted me and our marriage but I always felt she was glad to see Tammy go. She seemed lighter for a few weeks after she found out, as if some weight had been lifted.

The funny thing was, Tammy and I were pretty vanilla in our relationship. We had sex a total of three times, and none included intercourse. She insisted on that, wanting to preserve her virginity. I would have to describe both of us as awkward. That's not to say we didn't enjoy ourselves because we had plenty in common.

After meeting Stella, I actually had to relearn how to just 'be' around a different woman. They were both so different to me. Stella was more high-strung. She needed to feel, or maybe experience my love, would be a better way to put it. Tammy and I always just 'were.' We both knew where we stood with the other and had no need to verbalize it. Of course, Stella and I were deeply in love and, with a little time and effort, started a great life together.

"I'm so sorry," Tammy told me with a deep sadness.

"Don't be," I said a little more elevated than I meant to. "People are still missing, and Stella is one of them. I'm holding out hope."

That was all I could say without breaking down. I invited her in, and we all sat in the kitchen as Sabrina poured coffee. She admitted that she'd known Tammy was back in town, her husband having passed in an industrial accident at his place of employment. I was the one to offer condolences then.

"I can't stay forever," Sabina confessed. "I thought of Tammy as someone to help you get through this. I know you were very good friends."

"We were more than that," I said, not knowing where that came from. Tammy blushed and Sabrina gave a knowing smile.

Tammy was indeed there for me. We went out to dinner most nights, especially after I went back to work. My job as a forensic accountant was pretty mundane after all those years, and Tammy occupied my evening time. No, it wasn't like that; we sat in some restaurant reminiscing about our early years, and other things to keep my mind distracted.

Regardless of my sister's good intentions, I wasn't entirely sure of Tammy's motives. We were getting very close again, and it felt like it happened organically. After about the eighth or ninth week, Tammy seemed to disappear from my life slowly. I'd call and she would make appropriate excuses, usually catching up on domestic duties.

At first, I wondered and even felt guilty that I may have done or said something to drive her away. The more I considered it, the more I think she was pulling back because she didn't like how things were going. Surely, she'd have thought about that when Sabrina asked her to keep me company.

Maybe she'd felt what I did. Women are more intuitive about those things. She may have realized it was a bad idea, like a runaway train. We never discussed sex or flirted, at least not like a couple on the make. We did drink a lot of wine one night, joking and laughing about our poor attempts at sex back in the day. For all I knew, that was the thing that tossed her over.

I fell asleep thinking about those weeks with fond memories.

Stella was getting stronger and it happened quickly. For the next two days, I sat with her, a bit longer each day. We still hadn't talked about the details of what happened, but I knew I should let her do that in her own time. We held each other like our lives depended on it, offering our words of forever love.

On the third day, I walked into her room after breakfast, almost floating. My Stella was back, and she was going to be alright. Everything was going to be okay.

"Where is my wife?" I asked, surprised she wasn't in her bed.

"I believe a nurse took her to Mr. Boesman's room." That made sense. She wanted to check in on the man who probably saved her life. I also wanted to meet and thank Broderick Boesman, so I asked her to point the way to his room.

Finding the door closed felt odd to me. Maybe 'odd' isn't the right word. I didn't suspect anything nefarious in those milliseconds, just off.

That feeling heightened rapidly as I looked through the long, thin window in the door. Stella had her wheelchair turned facing the foot of the bed. While her feet hung off the side, her upper body was mostly on the bed beside Boesman, lying on her side, cuddled up to him. I felt immediately nauseous. It wasn't anything they were doing; it was just a hug, but rather the confident ease, the same as Stella had with me. All the things that ran across my mind then, the thirteen weeks they'd been together, entirely alone--the apparent intimacy, not just familiarity.

I couldn't say how long I stood there, stunned. At some point, the man opened his eyes, and I felt like he was staring right at me. I turned and walked away.

Sitting back in the waiting area, my mind was in turmoil. What I wanted to do most was leave but that would have made me appear callous and petty. A part of me cared less what anyone thought just then. There was another part that was already overriding my confusion and pain, wanting an explanation from my wife.

If he had seen me and told Stella, I would have thought she'd gone directly back to her room, sending someone to fetch me. That didn't happen. I sat there for another hour and ten minutes before the nurse came to tell me that Stella was back in her room, asking for me. While providing that information, her look of pity spoke volumes about what everyone else on that floor knew.

Honestly, the extra time was a godsend. Besides the anger and the feeling of betrayal, I'd had some time to empathize rationally, even by putting myself in her place. I could easily see it. People who undergo extreme stress thrive on comfort. I could envision that comfort naturally leading to more. They were there alone, after all. Even if Boesman's relationship with his wife was perfect, it was still plausible that he and Stella would fall into each other's arms. Hell, my Stella was a nice person. She probably would have offered herself to ease his pain and relieve her own.

I determined that I could live with it as long as she said goodbye to him in a private way. Unfortunately, I still had an awful feeling that there might be more. Standing, I felt decades older than I was and made my way down the hallway.

As soon as I entered Stella's room, I got that same look of pity, although in a lesser way. A nurse was one thing, but Stella and I were so familiar with each other that I could immediately see that she was worried about whatever she had to say.

"Hello, Tom," she said. I think she was expecting me to run to her or something. I just stood in the doorway, looking forlorn.

"Please," she continued. "Bring a chair over here by me. I want to tell you my story."

After getting close to her, propped up in the hospital bed, she took my hand. I looked down at hers, holding mine as if it were unnatural somehow. That made her frown.

"The first day of our... ordeal," she began with a heavy sigh, "I can't say much about. I was in and out of consciousness, my upper body hanging onto driftwood for dear life and my legs kicking when I had the strength and the point of mind to do so.

"I'm pretty sure Rick and I slept most of the second day, just lying there on the sand." She saw my expression change at the mention of his shortened name but bravely trudged on.

"The first conscious thing I remember is that putrid smell. It shocked me into consciousness. I sat up, bewildered by the environment around me, unsure where I was or why. Next to me was a sleeping Mr. Boesman. His leg looked to have been badly burned in the ship's explosion. Sand flies were all over the wound, feasting on it. Before me was a vast ocean, but behind me was some vegetation. I walked into the sparse brush, relieved myself, and began looking for anything that I might be able to wrap his wound in. I found a plant with large leaves, and when I rubbed them, they left oil on my hands. I had no idea if they would help or hurt, but I had to do something to get rid of the flies. He had to heal if we had any chance of survival."

I knew better than to interrupt further. Stella was desperate to confess everything that happened to her on that tiny island.

"Tom," she squeezed my hand. "During that first, small act, I knew that the man had saved my life and that I'd do anything possible to save his. It wasn't until a few days later that we talked - really talked - about how badly we would need each other if we wanted to live."

Stella could see that I had questions or comments but waved me off.

"We needed food," she continued. "We needed a shelter and fire, not only for ourselves but as a signal and to boil water. Rick taught me to forage. I found a branch suitable for a crude walking stick and he lumbered along with me, showing me what to do and what to look for.

"He'd taken care of the burn with sand before applying the leaves. Each night for the first week or so, I poured hot water over it to wash away pus and debris. Rick was no survivalist, but he'd had some training. There was very little fuel to maintain a fire, other than to boil water, so we slept, cuddled tightly together for warmth."

And then, what?" I couldn't help it any longer. "You fell in love with your proverbial savior?"

"No," she answered immediately. "We were completely dependent on each other for our very survival. We had no time for that, although I heard him weep for his deceased wife, who died in the explosion, at night when he thought I was asleep. Every small or large success we had, every day we worked out something, like him talking me through climbing a tall coconut tree, came with jubilation. We were elated to fill our bellies, or later, to create a basket with palm fronds to catch fish.

"Naturally," she said with trepidation, "we became very close. Fourteen days in, we were alive, he was getting stronger, his wound was healing as best we could expect. We talked more at night. He knows everything about you and Caitlyn. I know everything about him and his family. The first night we had sex together was pure desperation. We were letting go of anything and everything unknown. Tom, I need you to know, after that first time, we did it... a lot. We needed each other in that way, too."

I don't know what I expected. That's not right. I knew exactly what to expect after seeing them in Boesman's room, but the 'how' I was not prepared for.

Stella could see the turmoil. She was fully aware I'd never asked for any of it, just as she hadn't. It was simply how things were. I couldn't even admonish her for not keeping her legs closed. As natural as it seemed in my head, it was anything but in my heart.

"Somehow," she paused purposefully. "We made it. We survived, despite both of us thinking many days it would be our last. Food was scarce. Wood or brush dry enough to burn was even scarcer. The island was only about a quarter mile in diameter, and the eastern side was even more barren. Just the fact that Rick didn't die from an infection in his leg is a miracle.

"He saved me," she paused again, reliving it. "The day the ship exploded. He was in severe pain but he did it anyway. He saved me many more days over the next three months. I saved him so he could keep saving me."

"I get all that," I told her bitterly, while trying to hide it. "But you are both safe now. You made it. Yeah, it was a shitty deal, a horrible life experience, but I want to take you home."

"I have to see this through," she implored. "I need to get closure on this ordeal. I have to..."

"See if you love him," I spitefully interrupted.

"If it comes to that," she replied, then paused in reflection. "And if that's the case, I'll be open and honest with you. I didn't ask for any of this, Tom. I loved you before I went on the mission, and I still love you. I just need... I need your understanding, and... let's call it grace.

"Can you do that?" she asked hopefully. "Can you be the man I think... the man I hope you are and do this for me?"

"Let me tell you a story," I said, ignoring her plea. "I worried horribly those first days, fearing the worst, while hoping for the best. Pirates were suspected of boarding your ship, and somehow it had blown up. Do you know, when they mentioned pirates, what horrible thoughts I had about rape, torture, or worse? It would have been difficult enough to have learned you had perished in the explosion but to go through that... well, I shuddered at the thoughts nearly every night.

"The news said someone, probably a crewmate who didn't want to be a hostage, rigged the fuel line. The more time passed, the more I began to mourn a potential outcome, all while still holding out hope. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

It was probably the stupidest question I'd ever asked anyone. I was grasping at straws.

"Of course you do," I answered for her. "I was going mad with worry and despair. I endured all the people we know, and my workmates with their sympathy and bad advice. Then, as I was about to give up, I found out you were rescued and were alright. The elation I felt is indescribable, and still is. I only wanted to hold you. I had to wait while your company and our congressman arranged for me to come to Germany."

I couldn't control my emotions and broke down, the last words barely audible. "Now I've lost you all over again."

I couldn't contain my emotions further and had to get out. I'd never walked away from my wife in all our years together. Never given her my back as she implored me not to leave. The pre-booked hotel was only a couple of blocks away, so I walked there. It was my first time in the room since I'd arrived two days ago. After a long, hot shower, I stood on the balcony sipping a half glass of scotch from the mini bar. Being drunk or hung over the next day was not an option, but I needed something to dull the sting.

She had to know she was killing me inside. Was she being selfish? Of course, she was. She also had a survivor's mentality. A thought struck me. If she already knew she was in love with him, why ask at all? Did she still have some degree of love left for me? Did she want to test her theory of loving him in the real world instead of a life and death situation on an island? Was it enough?

As I stared down at a mostly quiet city, I determined it wasn't enough. I'm not built that way, for one thing. For another, if she were going to be with him, he'd win her heart, if he hadn't already. I mean, how can anyone compete with that? All of the trials, tribulations, hard times, and good times we'd ever had, paled by comparison.

She'd at least been honest, so she'd get the same from me. I'd make one last-ditch effort to appeal to her sense of loyalty, citing our vows and our love. But she would also know that I wouldn't sit home and play the cuckold fool for an abstract period of time.

The morning brought a new day and my plans from the prior evening fell to the wayside. Instead, I took the coward's way out. We spoke from our hearts again in the morning.

She started right in as soon as the nurse did her thing and took Stell's breakfast tray.

"I know you love me, Tom," she said it like I owed her, and in some ways, she was right about that. "I'm asking for patience and a leap of faith. I'm asking only for time. He's still going to need help, he's not healed..."

I cut her off. "Look, I'm not totally insensitive. We can hire someone to look after him, if that's all you're worried about. You can call him every day if you want to check in on him. Where's his family?"

Stella could see she hadn't gotten through to me, not completely. She had, but my words confused her. "His wife died in the explosion, as I told you, he..."

"Was there something between the two of you on the ship, during the mission?" I only asked that because I had to know.

"NO! oh god no!" She seemed offended. "I barely worked with him. His wife wasn't part of my team. Rick was... is a pilot. He flew numerous missions in the Middle East during his time in the Air Force. He's now a government consultant, testifying before Congress about planes. I barely spoke to him before the ship blew up. They lost their son, Grant, a few years ago in a hit-and-run while he was in school at Georgetown. He was only on the ship to assist with drone deployment. He brought his wife because he didn't want her to be home alone in a depressed state. Now, he feels responsible for her death.

"So," I asked impatiently. "You feel compelled to shack up with him, because...? What is this about if you aren't leaving me for him?"

"Please, Tom," she half-scolded, as if she had any right. "Don't make it tawdry. I know I've hurt you, springing this on you. It isn't about 'shacking up.' We've been through something so profound and life-changing together. I have to see if there's something to it in the real world, an ending or a new beginning."

"Let me help you, dear wife," my anger boiled to the surface. "I'm your Plan B, the comfortable old shoe--the backup plan if your fairy tale doesn't pan out. You need to separate. Your relationship, if what you're telling me is true, was born of survival under severe circumstances that are anything but what you... we had in real life. It is the same for him. You can't possibly think that absent those circumstances, you'll live out your fairy tale with him, leaving your husband and daughter behind. While you may think it's altruistic to him, it's selfish of you not to realize that you are back in the real world with your husband who has missed and feared for you terribly. Stella, I will not be plan B, even as I love you deeply.

"I'm going home later today, Stella. Go do whatever you have to do. I can't bear to watch or be a part of it. If you come back and I'm still around, we can see where we stand."

"If you really loved me," she replied, "you'd wait for me."

"Really loved?" I said, shaking my head. "That has to be the most hypocritical thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, maybe anybody's mouth. It's your choice. I don't own you. Whatever that choice may be, there are consequences and it appears that I need to think about me. Go and begin your next great adventure. I will not get in your way."

I hugged my wife out of respect for our many years together and peered into her eyes seriously as they filled with tears. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I turned and walked out on her as she kept trying to implore me to stay and talk. There was nothing else to say as far as I was concerned.

I called my sister from the airport to let her know I was on my way home and to tell her what transpired. She was too shocked to believe it initially. Sabrina asked plenty of questions, and as I answered them, I felt she was transferring sympathy from me to Stella. The last thing I needed was for this tragedy to become a Hallmark movie. I made an excuse to get off the phone so I didn't have to lose my temper with the only person who helped me, or whom I cared for.

Resisting the temptation to call Tammy, I boarded the plane. There was plenty of time to do that when I got home. I needed the travel time to get my emotions under control. The worst thing I could do was to make her the bad guy. I wanted her decisions and actions to speak for themselves because she was the bad guy. Trying to take revenge or get back at her would be a bad idea. The press will know the details very soon about Boesman and my wife. They'd be all over me. I would have to be the downtrodden rebuked husband who couldn't figure out what happened.

I decided I needed to know more about the man who stole my wife from me and took advantage of the plane's wifi.

Broderick Boesman was a decorated Air Force pilot who flew many missions in the Middle East. He was well-respected within the ranks and in his small hometown of upstate New York. I found an article about the tragedy surrounding his son, a young man with a bright future who'd been taken in an instant. The driver also lost everything for his stupid mistake.

In recent times, Boesman was a consultant for the aerospace industry and was frequently called upon to testify before Congress regarding the sunset of naval aircraft or entire groups of aircraft. In all of my research, I could find nothing other than he was an upstanding man who had suffered great loss while serving his country; one whom no one could think ill of. Despite that, I had a hard time not thinking of him simply of the man who fucked my wife for several weeks, and who fucked up my marriage.

The picture I found of him and his wife was stunning. She had many similar features to Stella. I could easily see why he may have fallen for her in their hour of desperation. That didn't mean they would last. Stella's request made it seem like she had reached the same conclusion. I wasn't going to dwell further because my wife had already done so much damage to me, in her utter selfishness. I'd need to handle the situation carefully, especially with the press. Boesman would become the hero, no matter what. The public would almost certainly see Stella's betrayal as a grand romance that was meant to be.

I had to be careful with Tammy as well. I had already developed real feelings for her, besides those we had had since childhood. Yes, some were likely due to my state of mind concerning the apparent loss of Stella, but some were legitimate, and that scared me. I'd have too much to do when I got home, separating things for an impending divorce.

Exhaustion overtook me when I finally walked through my front door. Mine - no longer ours. I knew Stella would have spoken to Caitlyn by then, so there was no point in calling her. I seriously doubted that she cared.

If only my parents were still alive, I thought. They would have been a rock for me, especially in dealing with my loneliness. I needed to do something constructive to get me out of... whatever I was in. I did the laundry. Looking back on that day, I truly had no idea how completely lost I was.

I needed some time. I had to sort through this trauma so I could survive it, and I'd surely been traumatized for thirteen weeks, culminating in the last two days' events. Tammy would have to wait.

I'd given my life to Stella and Caitlyn, my family. Things don't work out the way we want sometimes. I had no control over Caitlyn's mental issues no matter how hard I'd tried. They said she was probably never held as an infant. That was the entire crux of RAD. She took a walk on us with no notice, but she wasn't an employee; she was our daughter.

Thinking about Stella nonstop, and here again, I had to admit I could understand her reasoning. That didn't mean I had to like it. It sure as hell didn't mean I had to sit there and wait for her to make a decision that I also had no control over.

Besides not wanting to be a wimp and cuckold, I also didn't like my chances. He wasn't better than me, I thought, but the circumstances gave him an unfair advantage. What they had wasn't just new or exciting, it was born out of necessity. The old saying, "Fuck or walk," had become "Fuck or die."

If Stella believed that in her heart, then whatever they had on their island would continue to grow and progress. He needed care for his injuries and that was another strike to her marriage. With his wife gone, it was probably the easiest trifecta ever to bet on.

I determined I would not allow myself to feel like I did when Caitlyn left. That could only happen once in my lifetime. I steeled myself to the decision that it wouldn't ever matter if Stella came back if things between her and Boesman didn't work out. Her betrayal, her decision to pursue him rather than stay in our marriage, would stand regardless. I won't say all those decisions were easy or happened quickly. It took me three days.

After eating breakfast on the fourth day, I called Tammy. She hadn't called me even once, which told me that Sabrina had called her and brought her up to speed.

It was clear from the start that Tammy was happy to hear from me. She said all the appropriate things, did all the 'oohs' and 'ahs'; was careful to deploy sympathy without bad-mouthing Stella. She repeatedly asked if she could come over, to which I kept telling her not that night.

"I know that you think I need to talk and probably some comfort," I told her, "but I have a lot to do. There will be plenty of time for everything else later."

"Do you think maybe you're rushing things a bit, Tom? She isn't even out of the hospital yet. Who's to say she won't change her mind, especially the way you left? Maybe alone, with her thoughts and upon reflection, she has changed her mind."

"I don't think so," I warned myself more than her. "She made herself quite clear. She knows what she's done to me; I could tell she saw it in my eyes."

Tammy and I talked for a while longer. After ending the call, I found myself wishing I had invited her over.

The next several days I unclogged my mind with busy work. Moving money was easy because I'd begun that work when it seemed I'd be a widower. I knew that part of the ease for me was because I'd already been thinking that way when she was missing for so long.

During all of those days, I received emails, voicemails, texts, and knocks on the door with requests for an interview. I told them all to leave, or I didn't reply. When I did, it was 'no comment.' I knew that could make me appear as a heartless bastard, but I was more embarrassed to say the truth about what happened. In my mind, there was no way I would emerge from a public disclosure looking anything but the bad guy, while Boesman and my ex lived happily ever after. I knew that could make me appear as a heartless bastard, but I was more embarrassed to say the truth about what happened. They could get the story from Stella.

The big decision was the home my wife and I had owned together for so many years. I determined that I no longer wanted it. It was too big and held too many memories. Those memories were now tainted. Upon reviewing the original paperwork, I found that only my name was listed on the documents. Stella was still in school then and her credit was unestablished. That would make things easier unless she wanted to fight the process.

Tammy was patient until the fifth day. She showed up with a hopeful look at my door and a bag of my favorite tacos. We ate and reminisced - she reminisced, I should say - trying hard to keep my mind off my troubles and have a bit of fun.

We talked about our high school years and I recalled how often her parents gave me the stink eye.

"And what was it exactly that your father didn't like about me?" I teased.

"Everything, best I can figure." I feigned a shocked expression. "He said your hair was too long. He grimaced when you pulled up in front of the house with those loud mufflers. I was scolded that I needed to start growing up, that you'd never amount to anything."

"I guess I can understand," I answered honestly. "Caitlyn never once introduced me to a boy that I didn't despise."

The conversation shifted to what a handful our adopted daughter had been but also how she'd progressed into the person she became.

"A lot about her has never changed," I admitted. "I'm sure she's already firmly in Stella's court. I haven't heard from her, and I haven't been compelled to reach out to her these past couple of years. Maybe I'm feeling sorry for myself, I don't know. I think she's the one who needs to bridge the gap."

"And if she did," Tammy continued my thought. "Would you let her back in?" Her question had validity, plus I could see she was wondering what I'd do if Stella reversed course and came running home. My non-answer put a damper on our memory lane adventure and we sat quietly, reflecting.

Slowly, we started seeing each other almost nightly over the first two weeks I was home. I'm somewhat ashamed to say we only made it the two weeks before we had too many glasses of wine and ended up in bed. I spent a lot of the next day trying to understand if it was so good because of the newness, because I was mourning my long-term marriage, or because Tammy and I had such a long, connected history. It may have been all three, in part.

She seemed to agree, on the 'good' front, as we spent several more nights that week doing the horizontal mambo. Discovering each other again, but in some ways for the first time, wasn't just fun; it was highly emotional.

On nights when she wasn't with me, I progressed with my plans for divorce. I wasn't trying to be fair. The downside to my time with Tammy was that my grieving process was all screwed up. I hadn't fully grieved, and my anger was tucked down below the surface, hidden by my calm demeanor.

It was the beginning of the third week when that changed. I was looking through some news articles, mainly because I wanted to know if Stella and her lover had been released from the hospital. It dawned on me that Stella had made zero attempts to talk to me since I left her there. No calls, no emails, nothing... not even deploying Caitlin as an intermediary. That forced my anger to boil over, but it also confirmed the worst of my fears... we were done!

I paced back and forth in my living room, talking to myself. "Fuck that bitch!" and "I'm finished with her," even though I'd known that for the better part of a month already.

Tammy picked up on my mood the following day and, oddly, she only smiled about it. It made me feel manipulated or at least like she was looking forward to my bad mood so she could help fix me. I asked her sharply what she was doing here. That wiped the smile off her face quickly, and she turned back towards the door.

"Call me when you're over your snit," she said sarcastically, walking out. I didn't call her for two days because I realized I needed to feel the anger, let it permeate me, and absorb it. It was as much a part of me as any other emotion I was feeling and the finality was sobering.

To her credit, Tammy left me alone. I spoke to my attorney and informed him of my wishes regarding our dissolution, then asked him to prepare the necessary documents.

Three days after I'd been rude to her, Tammy and I went out to dinner. There was a cold silence between us, the air thick with apprehension as we skated around the hard stuff, talking mundanely about work and such. Finally, with dessert served, Tammy decided to take the lead.

"Tom, what are your plans regarding Stella?" There it was, finally. "I know you've been trying to figure that out. Have you come to any conclusions?"

"I'm divorcing her," I said bluntly. "My lawyer is putting the paperwork together."

Tammy and I stayed quiet for a minute, both of us taking small bites of our crème brûlée. "While I admit that makes me happy," she started again, "I have to ask, are you sure? I mean, she dealt you a pretty rotten blow, not something you or anyone could quickly recover from. Do you think maybe you're being hasty? Do you need to talk to someone, you know, professionally?"

I didn't take it personally. I knew what she was trying to do. She didn't want me to harbor regrets later on. I also knew she felt the same about our relationship as I did. She wanted me to be sure and worried that Stella could reappear any day to reclaim me.

"I'm sure," I told her definitively. "I don't need a shrink, at least I don't think I do."

The silence lingered. We were pulling back from one another, and I hoped it was a natural process after getting so close so rapidly.

"Let's go home and talk," I suggested. She nodded, no longer in the mood to eat.

At the house, I explained my position. Tammy listened, really listened.

"You're worried," I said more than asked. "You're wondering if Stella will figure out what she's lost and come running back, hoping to save our relationship."

"Maybe," she admitted. "But I don't think it's that simple. Look, I'm not defending her, but I do understand her situation from a woman's ten-thousand-foot perspective. Things happened to her, emotionally, on that island. They were both stranded in nowhere and no doubt wondering if they'd survive. You and I cannot begin to understand the emotions and what their thought processes were. I can tell you, the sex they had isn't a part of the equation; it's more like a byproduct. She developed feelings for him, the man who saved her life, and she's trying to see if they are real, or if it was just life and death circumstances.

"But, honestly," she continued. "I'm not worried about her feelings or actions; I'm only concerned with yours. That's because I know I have real feelings for you. I want to make sure we're on the same page, at least what I'm picking up from you. If you're done with her, then be sure. I understand why she's with him but I don't see it working out long term. What they had in a survival situation isn't what they'd experience here at home without those emotions and adrenaline. I do, however, want us to work out long-term, and I fear that somewhere down the road, she'll show up at your door wanting to return to you. So, unfairly, I'm asking you to make sure about us, even while you're going through all this turmoil that she's put in your lap."

We were sitting together, facing each other. I set down my wine and took her in my arms. I was sure and wanted her to know through action, not words. After reaffirming ourselves with some kissing and heavy petting, we talked about Stella and, surprisingly for me, Caitlyn.

I told her where I was hung up regarding the house. I had no idea where I wanted to live. I didn't want to go through the hassle of moving so I was putting it off.

That week was number five since I'd returned home. Despite the budding romance with Tammy, other things were causing a melancholy that I was aware could take me down a dark hole if I wasn't careful.

The reporters hadn't given up trying to interview me. The human-interest story was still in the news cycle, and I got the occasional looks of pity from some of my co-workers. That was because Stella and Rick were more than happy to share their story, at least for the first several weeks. Some went out of their way to invite me to lunch. I determined they probably just wanted the inside scoop. Stella, if she ever cared at all, still had not tried to contact me. That hurt a lot, but more so, the fact that Cait didn't reach out made it all the worse.

I was already becoming antsy and unsure about my future, and I knew it was time to make decisions or risk a major setback.

Sitting with our glass of wine after dinner, Tammy asked, "Tom, if Stella hadn't come back, or she'd been found... not alive, where do you think you'd have ended up?"

"Probably right here," I answered, unsure where she was going.

"Oh, come now," she teased. I could tell there was some level of seriousness there. "You must have thought about it during the time she was missing. This house is too big for just one person. What about your work?"

"I never really considered it," I honestly replied. "I was focused on her when I was alone. When I wasn't, I was at work or with you." It wasn't entirely honest, and she could tell.

"Look, I had to consider that she'd been killed and wasn't coming back to me. But that is not what happened. Now, if she came back, it would be after betrayal, after turning her back to search for whatever she thought there MAY HAVE BEEN with her savior. That is what movies are made of and she didn't seem to realize or want to recognize that she's married to a man whose entire existence and thoughts were with her for months."

"Alright," she sighed. "Let's try it this way. Where would you go if you had confirmation that she wasn't coming back? Where would you want to live? Work? What kind of work would you do?"

"Whoa!" I fake-screamed. "Too many questions!" I smiled at her and then started again. "First, I would sell the house. Too many memories would have been my thinking, but actually, it is my thinking. Maybe I'd look for some other work. You already know I'm not very happy with the job as it stands now."

"Then pick a place," she said enthusiastically. "I don't want to stay here either. I came home thinking I'd find myself, but after my fate of reconnecting with you, well, my priorities have changed."

"If that's true, Tammy, why tell me to pick another place?"

"Because, you big lug," she jokingly mocked. "I want to go with you."

Our love-making that night was more eager and intense. Afterward, we made some plans together. I woke up lighter and, I don't know, freer.

After work the next evening, I put my resume on Indeed and contacted a local realtor. Because the home was paid for, the realtor suggested I consider renting it, which I found to be a great idea. Oddly, I chose that option because deep down, the only thing that bothered me was having Stella come back only to find her home gone. At least that way, she could contact me if she wanted to rent it. I knew she didn't deserve any of my compassion, but I did it more for me than for her.

Six weeks later, Tammy and I were ready to go. My new job and a heap of sunshine awaited us at our destination. With only two days left before we headed off on a new adventure, Caitlyn finally called me.

"What do you mean, you're moving to the West Coast?" My daughter asked incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

"I've been offered a position there, Cait." I really didn't want to get into it with her. "It's high time I moved on."

"Moved on from what?" She still seemed astounded. "What about Mom?"

"What about her?" I stated. "She made her choice."

"What are you talking about? What choice?" She was clearly in the dark. I guessed that Stella must have lied to her about our situation. Then she surprised me. "What about that woman you're shacking up with?"

"Caitlyn, I'm not shacking up with anyone," I told her defensively. "Tammy is a friend, an old friend who has supported me in the weeks since your mother first disappeared and then since she decided to search for someone else. Tammy has been the only one who has been here for me when I needed someone badly."

"Yeah, right, Dad," she didn't believe me. "What did Mom tell you exactly. Has something changed?"

"Cait, I don't know what you're talking about." I was tired of it. "Your Mother left me for the man who saved her life. She 'shacked' up with him on that island for many weeks and they... they were intimate. She told me at the hospital she'd chosen to remain with him, after I saw her with him in his room, his bed. She was very clear about her intentions. She asked me to go home and wait for her in just on the off chance that things didn't work out in what she called 'the real world.' I made it clear I wouldn't do that."

I could sense her confusion. Finally, she said, "She told me she loved you. She also told me she hurt you with her decision, but her reasoning seemed solid. The last time I talked to her, I decided not to mention your ex-girlfriend, or new girlfriend, whatever she is. But mom knew all about her."

"Explain," it was my turn to be surprised. "What are you saying?"

"Mom had a life-altering experience," she made the same tired excuse. "She told me she was happy that you had someone to spend time with, to take your mind off things. I knew what she meant - sex... and companionship - even though she didn't spell it out. I think Mom is planning to come home to you."

"No, she isn't," I corrected her. "I wouldn't have misunderstood her intentions. She asked me to wait for her, so she could evaluate their relationship. She knew I'd never be involved in such a selfish request. Besides that, I told her point-blank that I wouldn't. I was quite clear about that, and her reaction told me she understood. When we parted at the hospital, it was permanent. I haven't heard one word from her... or you, since. Does that sound like she's in love with me? Maybe she has some residual love from all our time together, but that's meaningless after all that's happened."

The other end of the line was deadly quiet. "Maybe," she hesitantly spoke, "she's the one who misunderstood. Dad, don't do anything rash. What are you doing with the house? You need to talk to her, Dad." She sounded suddenly desperate.

"No, I don't," I growled. "I've already accepted a job. Everything's in motion."

"Dad, listen to me," she almost begged. "Don't do something you'll regret. You're making a big mistake!"

"Caitlyn, obviously, you're assuming way too much. Your Mother probably lied to you. I was never going to wait for her or for..."

I stopped mid-sentence and heard her gasp.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she yelled.

"When's the last time you called me?" I scolded. "Since the shit-show in Germany, how many times?" I knew the answer; it was zero. Just once, she'd left a superficially transparent message. "How are you," and "give me a call."

"I've called," she said defensively. "You don't answer, you don't return my call. Probably too busy with that slut."

"Watch your fucking mouth, Caitlyn, or..."

"Or what, Dad? Screw you! I'm trying to help you, but you'll never stop treating me like shit, so you know what? Fuck you!"

"Caitlyn, wait..." The call dropped. I just looked at my phone. When I finally turned around, Tammy was in the doorway.

"Call her back," she said. It wasn't a request or suggestion. I did, but the call went immediately to voicemail. That meant I was blocked.

When it was dinner time, Tammy called me and we sat down. If I was expecting sympathy, it wasn't forthcoming. No time for pity, either. She grilled me throughout the meal about my relationship with Caitlyn. She wasn't pressing me, only trying to learn all she could about the dynamics, other than what I'd already told her.

Later that night, after Tammy went home, I sat in my favorite chair with the TV off. I thought about what I'd told Tammy and tried to remember what caused the most significant rift in our family.

High school had been a disaster for Caitlyn. The rebel in her came out in full force. Her grades declined, she stayed out late, and was often not where she was supposed to be. Stella and I naturally tightened the leash to try to get her back on track.

Then there were the boys. Trouble kids that I considered a poor influence on our daughter.

Cait's eighteenth birthday was on Friday, February 2nd, but we'd scheduled her party for the following day. The weeks after Christmas had been especially tense in our home, with Stella igniting at every little thing our girl did wrong. I knew she'd had enough but I didn't know how to calm her. The arguments were heated and my wife swore and screamed outright at Cait, something she'd never done before.

That Saturday, I was up early, with a long list of things to do. I wanted her day to be special and memorable. I'd come in from the backyard about 9:30 to get a drink and revisit my list. Stella was on the phone with one of the neighbor ladies who hated parties and noise, trying to preempt her.

Caitlyn came out of the bedroom with a backpack stuffed to the gills and walked right up to me. "Dad," she stated coldly, "I need to talk to you."

Her tone was so demanding and final that it even got Stella's attention.

"I'm leaving," Caitlyn said to me. I was initially surprised and confused.

"Today's your party, sweetie," I said with a forced smile. "Happy Birthday!"

As I moved in for a hug, she stepped back, which cut me deep. "I'm leaving for good. A friend is on the way to pick me up. I'll let you know where I'm staying."

I just stood there like an idiot, but not Stella. She ended the call so fast there was no way she'd said goodbye to our neighbor.

"What the hell did you just say?" she hollered even though she was standing two feet away from our daughter.

"I'm leaving..." Stella moved in like a ninja and cut her off.

"Well, then you don't need this," she almost ripped the backpack off Caitlyn's shoulders. "All these clothes we bought you, you don't need them."

Caitlyn looked shocked. She began to retreat to her room. "Oh no, you don't!" Stella moved quickly and blocked her path. "If you're going to run away like an eight-year-old, then all your stuff stays right here where it belongs. Go on now."

Stella pointed toward the front door defiantly. Caitlyn, though initially stunned, just turned and walked quickly to the exit.

"Wait! Hold up, Cait," I screamed in desperation.

"Let her go, Tom," My wife told me definitively. I looked at my wife like she'd gone mad.

"What are you talking about?" I yelled at her out of... I didn't know what. "I've got to stop her and talk some sense into her."

"No, you don't," she said more calmly, but with resolve. "She's already made up her mind. She knows the party is today. It's been planned. She's trying to inflict pain and I don't need you falling into her trap."

What trap? I thought. What was she talking about? It didn't take me long to understand that what she was saying was accurate. It also didn't stop me from trying. I ran to the door and flung it open. I didn't see Caitlyn or any sign of her. She'd left with nothing, not even a pair of shoes. Everywhere I looked, it all seemed darker and further away, and then closer. Why was everything spinning, I wondered. I sat down heavily on the curb at the end of the driveway, so I didn't fall down.

Caitlyn hadn't only hurt us, she'd almost ripped us apart. I barely spoke to my wife for two weeks. It wasn't from a lack of her trying. Finally, she cornered me after dinner one night and told me that if I didn't talk to her about how I was feeling, she was leaving. Initially, I was so numb that I told her I thought it was for the best if she did. I blamed her. When she broke down crying from my rebuke, something snapped in me. I quickly went to her as she sank to the living room floor and held her as we both cried.

Later, we talked well into the wee hours of the morning. We talked about what we considered the failures of raising our daughter. I found out that Stella felt her failing was not being hard enough on Cait, while I always blamed myself for being too hard. We comforted each other and talked, really talked about her for the first time in a long time. We listened even harder. That night, in my mind anyway, could have broken us permanently, but instead it made us whole again.

>>>>

I was sitting in our breakfast nook with Tammy around ten a. m. on a Saturday when my phone buzzed. I casually looked down and saw the screen read "Stella." I looked at Tammy, who was already looking at me.

"Stella," was all I said to her before sending the call to voicemail. Tammy spoke under her breath, more to herself than me, "Wonder what she wants."

A few minutes later, the phone lit up again with a text.

Where are you?

Just by those three words, I knew where she was. There would have been many more words in that text if she hadn't just found out her house was now rented to tenants. She was probably so mad right then that she wanted to kill me, but realized she had to play it cool.

I waited five minutes and finished my avocado toast before texting back.

"The question is, where will you be tomorrow at exactly 3:00 p. m.? I can explain everything then if you like."

I had to wait a few minutes then. She probably had to find a place to stay first.

"I'll be at Carol's. I'm back and would have liked to answer you by saying 'home.'"

I ignored that. "I'll see you then."

Tammy watched me intently. I wondered if she was seeking resolution or vindictiveness in my expression, or both. I texted my attorney, giving him Carol's first and last name and typed 3:00.

Tammy and I had been in San Diego for two weeks. It had been a little over thirteen weeks since I left Stella in Germany with her true love. A lot had happened.

The time together had been nothing short of magical. My new job was similar but even easier than my last. Setting up shop with Tammy had been cathartic for both of us. Whether out shopping for just the right plant for that empty corner or discovering all the eateries in our neighborhood, each day was better than the one before. I found myself smiling again, and she noticed.

Alone with my thoughts, Stella still came to mind. We'd been a couple for a very long time. Initially, I'd asked myself where I'd gone so wrong. How could she leave me for a man she barely knew? At some point later, I discovered the answer to that question. It was some sort of hero complex. That was easier for me to swallow than the fact that she left a man she claimed to love for years and a reunion after such a tragic event.

I didn't like the fact that she'd come home - gone home - I guess. That meant he wasn't quite the hero she thought. I didn't buy that horseshit about compatibility in the real world.

I was steadfast in my commitment to myself and to Tammy. She had rescued me from the depths of despair. Of course, it was no secret she wanted something in return, but she'd put in the time and the work with me. Nothing Stella did would change my mind.

My new life was before me, and I was going to seize the day with my new love.

Stella surprised me again. I expected an immediate call after she was served the divorce papers. It took her ninety minutes.

"Be a man, at least once more, and talk to me." The text was short and to the point. After so long, she knew how to push my buttons. I waited five minutes and made the call.

"What are you doing, Tom?" There was desperation in her voice, one I'd not heard before. But Stella had a propensity for hot and cold, fighting one minute and trying to show empathy another.

"Why would you do this?" she sounded broken, but only on the surface. "I told you I was coming back."

"That's not what you said," I corrected. "You implied you might be back-big difference- and I told you I wouldn't sit there while you cuckolded me indefinitely. I was clear about that."

"What?" Her temper flared. "Is that what this is about? Honey, I told you why I was going with him. If it were your pride or some one-upmanship, then I'd already cuckolded you, or whatever it's called, many times on the island. I'd..."

Not so," I cut her off. "Neither pride nor ego entered into it. You made a decision, I disagreed and made sure you understood. You went ahead anyway. That was different. On the island, you were alone with him and probably feared you wouldn't ever see me or anyone else ever again. I'm reasonable, in case you haven't figured that out after all these years. And it wasn't cuckolding then because I didn't know. I forgave you for that before I left Germany. Going with him once you were safe and back with me, that's an entirely different story. I explained myself in your hospital room. You weren't ready or willing to listen."

"I can't believe this," she mumbled. Then louder, "I knew you were upset. I mean, I knew you would be, even before I heard that you were. I expected to have many painful but healing conversations upon arrival. I knew you were with your high school sweetheart, and I'd have to deal with that, too. But you just took off and took everything we ever had, and either kept it or smashed it. I'm flabbergasted that I never knew this side of you in all our years together. Not even on the night we reconciled over Caitlyn. I had no idea you were such a childish, vindictive bastard."

"You had no idea," I corrected her, "because you made me like this and turned a blind eye to it, because why? If you had come back to me as I asked, you would not have seen this side of me. Instead, you survived and felt entitled to branch off on your own, to see if you and Rick could keep the rescue fires burning."

"Are you truly that self-centered, Tom?" She was letting all her emotions out then. I could have hung up, but best to let her grieve and be pissed like I had. It would go a long way in a peaceful divorce.

"I guess I am, because once you made your decision clear, someone had to worry about Tom, and it certainly was not you," I admitted. "You should have stayed with him. Out of curiosity, I must ask, why did you bother coming back?"

"Because," she paused and sighed. "Like I told you, I wanted to see if there was something there. Something besides my courtesy of helping him heal. I needed to know. There wasn't, and I told you that might happen, too. I had no illusions."

"I disagree with your last statement." I gave it to her. "Are you saying you went to upstate New York to play nursemaid? You didn't spend your nights with him the same way you did on the island?"

"Don't be daft," she spat. "Of course we did. I made sure you knew that as well, before you left me in that hospital. You don't seem to understand, and I suppose I'm expecting too much from you in that regard.

"We were a great team," she went on. "Right from the start. Not like some scripted episode of "Naked and Afraid." We clicked right away. He's a very different man from you, Tom. Different in almost every way. Had we not clicked, I'm sure I wouldn't be talking to you right now because we wouldn't have lived. As I told you then, I had to know what could be. I had to do it for me, or I'd never have forgiven myself. We made it through a tragedy I never thought we would.

"So, I come back to my husband," her inflection changed. "Only to find he's run off to the other coast - about as far away as possible - and his new love has run with him. He's rented my home, taken our money. I'm not even sure where my things are."

She ran out of steam then, probably worried about her past accumulations. It was time to finish it.

"I can understand that," I said, much calmer than I felt. "First, I want to correct the record; you came back to your second choice after you went for the pot of gold only to find it wasn't there. Did you ever think that you had a husband and a daughter who had been in agonizing fear and painful uncertainty for your life for so long? That while you may have owed it to yourself to find out if your savior was husband material, some other things in your life are more important? I see it this way, Stella; if you had given any thought to me, Cait, or our family, my money was on you never having left us for a chance at a life with Rick.

"I made it through tragedy, too," I continued. "Exactly twice in half a year. The first time, I wasn't sure if I'd lost my wife, and the second, I knew I had. I'd made a friend I could lean on with all my troubles. I hadn't sought her out; she was more of a Godsend. I didn't know if I'd survive, either, but I did, and I found my next love along the way."

The silence between us felt about as far as the actual distance. Under normal conditions, Stella could not stay quiet for that long.

"I need a place to stay," she finally answered. I breathed a sigh of relief at her words. She knew now, and I knew that she knew it was over, finally. It was time to split up the goodies.

"Have you received your insurance money and the payout from NOAA." I framed it as a question, but it was more of a statement. Hearing me, Stella also realized I knew about her benefits.

"Yes, so what?" Her tone was becoming indignant. "You moved people into my... our home, you've taken a lot of our funds."

"Sorry, Stella," I said with as much compassion as I could muster. "My house. My name is on the deed and I bought it. I've paid for it over the years. Your payout was what, high six-figures, or was it seven? You can afford to set up a new life. I've already isolated your half of everything, and you'll get it as the divorce progresses, following the law. I'm being very fair about the house, too. Even separating half the rent. I don't have to be as generous as I am, and I'm sure once you retain an attorney, they will confirm that. So, get one, sign the papers, and then get on with your life."

"Alright," she said in a defeated tone. "You're... You're really going to stay with her?"

"Getting married as soon as the divorce is final." That was all I said in confirmation.

Stella started to say something. She did it at least three times, finally settling for, "Goodbye, Tom. I wish you well. No, that's not true."

I knew she didn't mean it. She'd been through three days of hell, just like I once had.

>>>>

I opened the door, and there stood Caitlyn. Without a word, she passed me and invited herself in, then she turned to face me after I followed her into my living room.

"Mother wants you to come home," she said sternly, in an almost sterile tone. I just looked at her like she was crazy. I'd already explained myself to Stella weeks before and served her with divorce papers.

"I want you to come home," she followed, her voice cracking and eyes watering. She ran into my arms, which shocked me. We hadn't hugged like that in more than eight years. She cried hard, and I let her, leaving her head on my shoulder until she was able to get control of herself. Then she led me to the sofa.

I wanted to ensure she knew 'going home' wasn't a thing, but she continued immediately.

"Dad," she said, wiping her nose. "I know I've been a problem child, maybe even a horrible daughter. I know I'm not what you or Mom were expecting when you adopted me. You know I never knew my biological mother, but I'm sure you didn't know how I felt about that."

She could see my surprise and discomfort, so she reached for my hand. It was strange that something I'd longed for felt so out of place.

"You see," she went on, "I always thought, no, expected my mother would come back. She'd come and rescue me and we'd live happily ever after. I thought about it in my daydreams. I often dreamt about it at night. So many scenarios for our joyful reunion. Eventually, I even started believing it. When that happened, I put myself in a cage. I made my parents and my home a purgatory of my own design.

"I realize how destructive that was now," she said. "But I also think I took something special from the only people who loved me. I changed the two of you, because your love for me was never enough. It didn't matter what you did or how hard you tried, I constantly rejected you. That's why Mom went with this man, I'm convinced, and why you had to leave with Tammy, and decided, no, couldn't wait for her."

"I'm glad you've grown in your journey," I told her. "But I'm not sure I agree with your synopsis. Your Mother had no reason, no good reason that I can think of to go with Rick, no matter what they were doing on that island or what kind of feelings they developed." Even as I said it, I couldn't convince myself.

"Don't you see, Dad?" she asked pleadingly. "I made Mom feel like an outcast. You, too. But I was the real outcast. When she became a castaway for real, Rick was there for her, in every way, but moreover, he needed her in ways I never did. The same for you."

"Baby," I wanted to set her straight, even if just a little. "I can understand your connections, and I'm proud of you for making them. I think maybe you're being too hard on yourself, but I'm not going to negate or minimize your feelings. Those belong to you." She looked hopeful, as though I'd had an epiphany, until I went on.

"But my feelings are mine also, like you. I can't deny them, and I'm not going to try. I've thought long and hard about your mother's situation, our situation, if you want to be technical. I listened to her reasons, commiserated somewhat, and then tried my damndest to convince her otherwise. Even after telling her the consequences of her decision, she moved on, undeterred, as if I hadn't said a word. For all the weeks she was with him, she never once tried to contact me directly or through someone else. Then, when things didn't work out for her and Rick, she just came running back home.

I cannot reconcile what she did to us, to me, even considering the adverse conditions and indescribable stress. I've told myself that maybe I should have been the bigger man - a better man - but at the end of that thought, my conscience is clean every single time. I didn't do anything except love her unconditionally.

"And, further, I think she always knew me well enough to understand that I wouldn't stay at home and drown in my tears waiting for her, on the off chance she'd return to me. If she's honest with herself, she'd know, deep down, that I am not made that way."

"Look, Cait," I finished. "Stella had a sure thing with me; she knew she could rely on me. Maybe that was what encouraged her to take the risk. It is I, and how I treat those I love. It was the risk of possibly giving up a sure thing to gamble that what she had with the other guy, in a completely unreal, survival situation, would turn into something real. If she had any thoughts of reconciliation, she would have made contact, even sporadically. She made that choice as well. What that left me with was only one choice, and I made it."

Caitlyn looked like someone let the air out of her. Her gaze grew solemn as she looked at something in her lap.

"I suppose I can understand," she said. "But you should hear this. Mother told me this when she came home to find the house rented. It made a lot of sense to me at the time.

"She said that many times on that tiny island, when she was off gathering food or firewood, she thought about you. She would daydream about a joyful reunion, always at some airport, with cameras going wild and people cheering." She suddenly looked like she wasn't sure she should continue.

"The day she saw the ship on the horizon, she told herself it was a mirage at first. Straining her eyes, she knew it was moving, though. She began running back to the beach to tell Rick, who was in the water checking the fish traps. Once she got him up on the beach where they could see better, his leg was better but still needed attention; Rick was screaming in jubilation, confirming that it was real."

Caitlyn sniffled and rubbed her nose. "Mom said, once she realized the boat was moving toward them and not in a different direction, she began to weep. At first, she thought them to be happy tears, but she soon understood that she was sad. She told me she couldn't understand it then, and still can't. She was about to be rescued and her dream of uniting with her husband would come true. Instead, she felt like - and these are close to her exact words - like she was on the best roller coaster ever designed and the ride was coming to an end. The build-up, she told me, of the previous thirteen weeks, all the danger, suspense, intrigue, and yes, the man she had shared them with, was about to end."

"Interesting," I said under my breath. "It took her all of thirteen weeks to get there, and it took me the same amount of time to reach the place I am now. Did she ever mention why things didn't work out with him?"

"She did," Cait sniffled. "She said over the weeks of being with him, he changed. At first, while she was still helping him get around because of his leg, things were great, more like they were on the island. But gradually, especially as they talked to the various press, he became more... I think she said, arrogant. He bragged about things on the island that Mom knew as she sat listening, didn't happen the way he told them. The way she told me reminded me of that old movie "Grease" and the first scene on the beach where Danny Zuko was so romantic with Sandy, and then how he acted around his school friends."

We both sat in silence for probably less time than it felt like. I wanted my next words to be honest, and for my daughter, it was a teachable moment.

"I understand exactly how that must have felt," I told her. "I'm not leaving Tammy. Tell your mom I forgive her if she cares about that. Tell her I wish her the best life possible. Between you and me, I'm exactly where I want and need to be. You overcame the morning that you left home and so did I. I refuse to look back, or go backward, for that matter. Some of the worst times in our lives, Cait, turn out to be momentary, and sometimes they work out, make us better."

Caitlyn's head fell. She had failed, she knew, and it was evident without words. I reached for her and held her tightly for several minutes.

Finally, she looked up into my eyes. "Dad," she softly said, "can we agree to have a better relationship? I'm sorry about the past. I want to make a better future."

She broke down again when I told her absolutely and I wanted that, too.

>>>>

As we lay there catching our breath, Tammy turned toward me. "You two seemed to mend some fences. I'm happy for you both."

The tone of her voice didn't sound happy. I turned slowly to look at her. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tammy knew she was a chronic eavesdropper, and that I'd given her plenty of grief about it. Her non-answer was all I needed. I looked back at the ceiling.

"If you need to go back to her," she said, with a shaky, unsure voice, "I'll understand. I won't try to stop you."

She left it hanging, which added to my angst. "Why?" I asked the only thing I knew that would force her hand. "Why wouldn't you try to stop me, I mean?'

"Because," she quickly replied. "I want a real relationship. I want forever. You can't have any doubts, you can't be second-guessing your treatment of her, or we won't work. No regrets or shame, either. If there's something more, or better said, something left between you and Stella, it needs to be resolved."

I pulled Tammy close and squeezed her tightly. "You are my future," I reassured. "I'm done leaving. You and I must learn to live and love absent all this drama surrounding my ex-wife and my daughter, in as normal, or maybe as boring, a way as we can be. That will take time but I am committed to us... to you and me... to make it work. You're stuck with me, unless you keep listening in on all my conversations."

I heard her hold back a strained sob. Then, she released a breath she probably didn't realize she was holding. Tammy shifted her body, scooting even closer and molding to me with her head on my chest. I meant every word I'd said, and she knew it. The future was ours to behold.

The divorce proceeded without incident or drama. Stella and I, like many couples who've been together a long time and been through things in their lives, didn't need a bunch of endless talk. She'd spent thirteen weeks eating leaves and a rare coconut, along with whatever meat they could carve out of palm trees. Putting myself in her shoes, I really couldn't say what I'd have done.

The press was still hungry for a human interest story, still trying to contact me, and Rick was still talking (making money from the story). So, Stella and I agreed to be civil and asked our attorneys to keep a lid on it, best they could. Stella agreed not to give anymore public interviews, which helped.

She thought Boesman might be the next chapter of her life. I understood that. We'd had a pretty vanilla life, other than trying to raise a problem child together.

I preferred to think of things like this: Had she not found herself in those circumstances, would we have gotten divorced at some time in the future? The possibility was certainly viable. Did we have any big problems in our marriage? Other than Caitlyn, being run down after all those years, it was hard to say. But I was secure in examining my own actions in a marriage that I don't think was better or worse than most; my view was that it was a partnership in which we both were better, particularly in seeing to the other's needs... except for this most unusual turn. The circumstances we were both thrown into pushed things, or at least, that's how I saw it.

I almost felt bad for Stella that her brief romance with Boesman didn't work out. I felt even worse for her that she somehow believed I'd sit at home waiting around for her. I also thought about the cosmos of all of it. She was a victim of a terror attack that killed people; she was fortunate to survive with Boesman's help. She didn't plan it and their survival is what brought them together. These events also impacted me and Caitlyn, both of us fraught with the worry about what happened... and not knowing whether she was captured, dead, alive, or roaming endlessly. It wasn't anyone's fault, but in my mind, the randomness of it all ended when they were rescued. She made decisions based on what she wanted, with which I disagreed, prompting me to take care of myself.

Tammy and I were married two months after the divorce was final. Caitlyn was a bridesmaid. Stella was not invited. The week after our honeymoon, I put the house up for sale and split the proceeds with Stella. She moved to New England, according to my daughter. I don't ask about her, but Cait tells me she's trying to put her life back together.

Caitlyn is taking some additional college courses toward her Master's degree and is doing well. We talk at least twice per week, and I've helped her a little financially as well as with her studies. My life is better now than it was after being cast away.

I attended Caitlyn's graduation, proud as a peacock and with Tammy at my side. Surprisingly, Stella was there with Broderick Boesman. I gave her a funny look, and she just shrugged. I guessed that she either realized she'd made her bed or she couldn't stand being alone. I later told my wife, as we held each other, that I was no longer an outcast.

Tammy and I spent a lot of time with Cait. I won't lie; it took some time for my daughter to warm up to the new family dynamic, even though she didn't live with us. After a few years, Tammy and Caitlyn were much better. Tammy would never get the distinction of 'mom' and she was okay with that.

Stella stayed with Rick for a few years, then they split, and about a year later, they were back together. I often tried to see myself in her situation, stranded, alone, with a stranger and dependent on one another. I couldn't even imagine it. Could I have left my family for that person, once we were out of danger? Well, it doesn't matter because I survived my own kind of personal hell, and I'm finally at peace.