Parted Beneath The Aurora

For three years, Jack was stationed in Antarctica. Each week, I packed and shipped him supplies, adjusting the checklist as polar temperatures dropped.

Before every deployment, I asked to join the crew, but he always refused, citing strict station protocol. I said okay and let it go.

That changed when Gary from logistics posted a group photo of Jack with a girl in a red Arc'teryx jacket, both smiling beneath the green aurora. I recognized her as Wandering Penguin Diary, a travel influencer. Her recent videos were all filmed in Antarctica. One showed Jack taking her to see the ice cap sunrise. When asked about clearance, she replied, The Captain gave me a VIP media pass, wink.

In her latest reel, Jack gently steadied her wind-battered tripod, his voice soft as he adjusted her lighting. For three years, he had only ever spoken to me like a mission briefing.

I unpacked the half-prepared supply box. I would use the thermal patches and beef jerky myself. I texted Gary to cancel the next shipment. Then I booked a Northern Lights expedition in Norway. If his South Pole had no room for a fianc, I would see the aurora alone.

...

"Sierra, Stella just flew back to the States. Her old lease expired and she hasn't found a new place yet, so she's going to crash with us for a few days."

The front door swung open. Jack walked in, dragging a massive pastel pink suitcase behind him.

Stella trailed right behind him. She was still wearing that same red hardshell jacket I had seen in her videos.

"Hey Sierra, sorry to crash your place. The Captain insisted the partner hotels weren't safe enough and dragged me all the way here."

Her eyes crinkled into those same smiling crescents. The blatant brag in her tone was impossible to miss.

I closed the browser tab for the Troms? aurora tour. I turned my head and looked at them.

Jack parked the pink suitcase right in the middle of our living room. He smoothly reached into the shoe cabinet, pulled out a brand new pair of women's house slippers, ripped off the tags, and dropped them at her feet.

"Wear these. Your boots are going to give you blisters."

Those were the guest slippers I bought just two days ago. I hadn't even worn them myself.

I stayed seated on the couch.

"How long is she staying?"

Jack took off his coat and hung it up.

"Just until she finds a new apartment. Probably two weeks."

"She draws a salary from her agency. The Polar Institute also provides corporate housing."

"She came back early specifically for the Institute's outreach project. It is official business. Having her here makes it easier for me to coordinate the workflow."

His tone was totally clinical, like he was delivering a quarterly report.

I just stared at him.

Three years. Every conversation we had sounded exactly like this.

"The research station doesn't host family members. It is strictly against protocol." That was his excuse when he refused to let me visit him.

Now, he was dragging a non-family influencer right into our living room.

"Whatever."

I looked away and stood up to head to the master bedroom.

"Sierra."

He stopped me.

"Help Stella set up the guest room. Put on some fresh sheets. She has trouble sleeping in new places, so use the pure cotton set."

I stopped in my tracks. I turned around and looked him dead in the eye.

"I am not your maid."

Jack's brows knitted together.

"What is your problem today? You used to be so welcoming when we had guests."

"I know the difference between a guest and a stranger."

Stella immediately grabbed Jack's sleeve and gave it a gentle tug.

"Captain, please don't fight with Sierra because of me. I really should just book a hotel. I can handle it myself."

She reached for the handle of her pink suitcase.

Jack clamped his hand over hers.

"Stop being ridiculous. You are staying here."

He turned back to me, a flicker of raw impatience in his eyes.

"Sierra, Stella has been freezing in Antarctica for three months. Her immune system is wrecked. Stop being so petty over every little thing."

I was being petty.

I looked down and let out a dry laugh.

"Fine. Make yourselves at home."

I walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

Through the drywall, I could hear their hushed voices.

"Is Sierra mad at me?"

"No, she just gets in these moods. Ignore her."

"Captain, could you help me get my tripod out? I need to wipe down the lenses."

"Sure, which pocket?"

"The side compartment."

His voice was so soft. So gentle. Exactly like the voiceover in the video.

I opened my closet. I took all the heavy-duty barrier creams and thermal patches meant for the South Pole and shoved them into the very bottom storage bin.

Then I pulled out my own suitcase and laid it flat on the floor.

My flight to the Arctic Circle was exactly fourteen days away.

Right around the time Stella said she would be moving out.

I started tossing clothes into the suitcase.

One sweater.

Two sweaters.

The door suddenly cracked open. Jack stood in the doorway holding an empty glass.

"Do we have any antacids left?"

His eyes swept over the open suitcase on the floor. He paused.

"Why are you packing?"

"Switching out my seasonal clothes."

I smoothly folded two more thick sweaters and tucked them inside without missing a beat.

"Stella is having stomach cramps. Her eating habits got messed up on the ice cap."

He sounded genuinely distressed for her.

"Could you go make her a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup? She hasn't eaten anything solid all day."

My hands stopped moving.

"Jack."

"Yeah?"

"You have chronic stomach issues too. Tell me, how many flare-ups have you had in Antarctica over the past three years?"

He clearly was not expecting that question.

"Occasionally, I guess. Why?"

"Nothing."

I snapped the suitcase shut.

He had absolutely no idea. The reason he never had a flare-up in three years was because I mailed him his specific prescription antacids and gut-lining powders like clockwork every single week.

And now here he was. Ordering me to cook for another woman's stomach ache.

"Meds are in the second drawer of the TV console. The noodles are in the pantry. Make it yourself."

I zipped up the suitcase.

Jack's face darkened.

"Sierra, since when did you become so cold?"

Cold.

I looked at him.

"How warm do you want me to be? You brought her home. She is your responsibility, not mine."

"She is my teammate!"

"A teammate who needs the Captain to personally bring her into his fiance's home to nurse her?"

"You are being completely unreasonable."

He slammed the door shut.

Through the wood, I heard him walk back out to the living room.

"Stella, she is not feeling well. How about I order you some oatmeal from that place downtown?"

"It's okay, Captain. I'm not really hungry. Please don't go out of your way."

"Absolutely not. Your stomach will act up again. Let me see what's open on UberEats."

I sat down on the rug. I looked at the flight confirmation text that had just popped up on my phone screen.

Fourteen days until departure.

A little while later, clattering noises echoed from the kitchen.

Jack was actually cooking. A man who couldn't tell a scallion from a garlic clove was navigating a stove for Stella.

I opened the door to go get a glass of water.

I walked out just in time to see him setting a steaming bowl of noodles on the dining table. A perfectly golden fried egg sat on top.

Stella was sitting at the table, resting her chin in her hands. Her eyes were practically sparkling.

"Thank you so much, Captain. I had no idea you could cook."

"Just threw something together. Eat it while it's hot."

He pulled out the chair across from her and handed her a pair of forks.

I walked past them with my empty glass. Jack caught sight of me.

"There is more in the pot if you want some."

"Pass. Smells greasy."

I filled my glass with tap water and walked straight back to the bedroom.

Stella's tentative voice floated through the air behind me.

"Captain, am I really causing too much trouble for you guys?"

"No. Just eat."

I closed the door. I shut out those voices completely.

The next morning, the sound of running water in the bathroom woke me up.

I pushed the door open.

Stella was standing in front of the mirror doing her skincare routine.

My products, which normally had the whole counter, were shoved into a tight corner. The center of the vanity was hijacked by rows of expensive serums and moisturizers.

Worse, a fuzzy pink towel was draped aggressively over my toothbrush cup.

"Morning, Sierra."

She turned her head, flashing an innocent smile.

"Sorry about the mess. I have a lot of products. Hope you don't mind."

I walked over. I pinched the pink towel between two fingers.

I dropped it straight into the laundry hamper next to the toilet.

"I do mind."

Stella's smile froze.

"Sierra, what are you doing? That towel is brand new."

"It touched my toothbrush."

I picked up the toothbrush and tossed it directly into the trash can.

"Sierra, are you out of your mind?"

Jack's voice echoed from behind me. He was in his sweatpants, frowning as he walked in and instinctively pulled Stella behind him.

"It is just a towel. Is the dramatic tantrum really necessary?"

"It's unsanitary."

I looked at him, my voice completely flat.

"You!"

Jack took a deep breath, visibly suppressing his temper.

"Stella just got here. She is still adjusting. As the lady of the house, could you try to be a little more accommodating?"

Lady of the house.

I caught the phrasing. We paid the down payment on this apartment together. Both our names were on the deed. Yet in his eyes, I was just the hostess playing nice for his real priorities.

"She is just crashing for a few days. Stop pulling rank to bully her."

He didn't wait for my response. He just handed down the verdict.

I nodded slowly.

"Fine. I won't bully her."

I turned around, walked back to my room, and grabbed a new toothbrush from my stash.

Breakfast was agonizingly tense.

Jack had gone out for coffee and pastries. He slid a steaming cup of hot latte toward Stella.

"Drink something warm. It will settle your stomach."

Then he pushed the remaining iced coffee toward me.

I touched the plastic cup. Condensation dripped down the sides.

"I can't drink cold stuff right now. Did you forget?"

I get severe cramps this time of the month. I never touch ice.

Jack froze. A flash of genuine annoyance crossed his face.

"I grabbed the wrong cup. Stella's is the hot one."

He reached over to swap them.

But Stella had already taken a sip from the hot cup.

She looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes.

"Oh no, I already drank from it. Sierra, do you want to just pop yours in the microwave?"

"Don't bother."

I stood up, took the iced latte, and poured it straight down the kitchen sink.

"Enjoy your breakfast."

That afternoon, I had to drop off some paperwork at the Polar Research Institute downtown. Jack had asked me to organize his data authorization forms before he flew back.

Just as I reached the plaza outside the building, I saw Jack and Stella walking out of the glass double doors.

Stella had a blue lanyard hanging around her neck. Attached to it was an all-access VIP keycard for the Institute's restricted labs.

Three years.

As the Captain's fiance, every time I came to deliver supplies or drop off paperwork, I had to stand at the security booth and wait in the freezing wind for him to come down and get it.

I once asked him if he could get me a temporary guest pass.

He said: "The Institute has strict security protocols. Family members aren't allowed to wander around. It is the rules."

I believed him.

Now, I realized the only person blocked by those rules was me.

"Captain, that aurora simulation pod was incredible! I already have the whole storyboard for my next reel."

Stella was practically bouncing on her heels.

"Glad you liked it. I'll have the tech guys email you the raw data files later."

Jack's tone was warm. Indulgent.

Then he looked up and saw me standing at the bottom of the steps.

The warmth vanished from his face instantly. The clinical, strictly-business mask slammed back into place.

"What are you doing here?"

"Dropping off your authorization forms."

I held out the manila envelope.

He took it and barely glanced at it.

"You could have just left it with security. Why did you walk all the way over?"

"I was in the area."

My eyes drifted down to the blue VIP pass resting against Stella's chest.

"She has clearance?"

Jack followed my gaze. His jaw tightened.

"She is an official media partner. She has a filming schedule. The board expedited her pass."

"How long does an expedited pass take?"

"A week."

"Didn't you two just land in New York yesterday?"

Jack went dead silent for two seconds.

"I filed the paperwork for her while we were still at the station."

For her content.

While stationed ten thousand miles away in a frozen wasteland, he navigated time zones, pulled strings, and chased down board members just to get her a plastic card.

But when I asked for a visitor pass just so I wouldn't have to freeze outside for half an hour, he fed me "protocol."

"That is great."

I gave a tight smile, turned around, and started walking away.

"Wait, Sierra!"

Stella called out. She trotted down the steps and shoved a small blue paper bag into my hands.

"I bought this at the Institute's gift shop just now. For you."

I looked down. It was a plush penguin keychain.

"The Captain mentioned you absolutely love cute little things like this, so I picked the best one."

I love cute little things.

That was a passing comment I made five years ago, right when we started dating. I casually said penguins were adorable.

I grew up. I stopped buying stuffed animals years ago.

But his memory of my preferences was permanently stuck on a throwaway comment from half a decade ago.

"No thanks. Keep it as a prop for your videos."

I didn't take the bag.

"Just take it."

Jack stepped down, grabbed the bag, and practically forced it into my palm.

"It is a nice gesture from Stella. Stop being so ungrateful."

Ungrateful.

The word felt like a shard of glass sliding between my ribs.

I looked at the cheap blue bag in my hand. The whole situation suddenly felt profoundly hilarious.

"Sure. Thanks."

I crushed the bag in my fist and walked toward the subway.

When I got home, I threw the penguin keychain into the trash can.

Then I opened my laptop and went back to researching aurora hunting spots in Norway.

Troms?. December was the absolute best time for solar activity.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my best friend, Gemma.

"Shopping this weekend? I heard Jack is back in town. You aren't playing house with him?"

"He has someone else to keep him company."

I typed the words out and hit send.

She replied instantly with a single question mark.

I didn't bother explaining.

I opened the Notes app on my phone.

I typed out the iced coffee in the sink, the pink towel in the trash, and the blue VIP pass around another woman's neck.

It was a habit I had picked up over the last few days.

Every single disappointment went into the list.

Once the progress bar hit one hundred percent, I was deleting the whole file.

Saturday afternoon. Gemma and I met up at a mall in Soho.

I tried on a heavy, insulated white parka, prepping for the Arctic chill.

"Why are you buying Everest gear? It doesn't even get that cold in New York."

Gemma sat on the fitting room couch, sipping her boba, looking thoroughly confused.

"I am going somewhere cold."

I adjusted the fur-lined collar in the mirror.

"Where? Did Jack finally agree to take you to the South Pole?"

"No. I am going by myself."

I took off the parka and handed it to the cashier.

Gemma narrowed her eyes, instantly sensing the shift in my tone.

"What exactly is going on with you two? I asked you the other day and you ghosted me."

"Nothing. I am just tired of it all."

I took the shopping bag.

We walked out of the boutique, heading toward a restaurant.

I turned the corner, and froze. Right across the atrium, inside an elite outdoor apparel store, were two very familiar faces.

Jack and Stella.

Stella was trying on a top-of-the-line Arc'teryx hardshell jacket.

The price tag dangling from the zipper read 0-0,800.

Jack stood right beside her, meticulously adjusting the velcro cuffs on her sleeves.

"This color block is highly visible in whiteout conditions. You won't freeze to the bone next time we do an ice cap shoot."

His voice drifted out of the open storefront. Patient. Attentive.

Gemma followed my line of sight. Her eyes practically bugged out of her head.

"Who the hell is that?"

"His teammate. A science influencer."

My voice was dead calm. Like I was reading a Wikipedia page about a stranger.

"Teammate my ass."

Gemma let out a dark laugh and stormed straight into the store.

I couldn't catch her in time. I had to follow her in.

"Well look who it is! Captain Jack. Real busy schedule you got since flying back, huh? Taking the 'teammates' on shopping sprees?"

Gemma crossed her arms, standing near the racks, dripping with sarcasm.

Jack jolted. He spun around, saw us, and immediately scowled.

"Gemma? What are you doing here?"

"I am taking your fiance shopping."

Gemma pointed sharply at the bag in my hand.

"Sierra has been with you for five solid years, and I have never once seen you buy her a jacket that costs more than a hundred bucks."

Jack's face went rigid. His eyes darted past Gemma and locked onto me.

"Sierra, what kind of garbage have you been feeding her behind my back?"

His absolute first instinct was to accuse me of gossiping.

"I haven't said a word." I stared right back at him.

"Sierra, please don't misunderstand."

Stella quickly unzipped the expensive jacket, stepping forward with a look of manufactured panic.

"I am paying for this myself. The Captain is just helping me check the specs."

"Does checking the specs require him to stroke your forearms?"

Gemma fired back without missing a beat.

"You are an outdoor influencer, but you can't read a damn size chart? Or do you just get a kick out of playing helpless around other women's fiancs?"

"Gemma!"

Jack barked, his voice echoing in the store.

"Watch your mouth. Stella is sourcing professional gear for the station's official media campaign. If you don't know what you are talking about, don't throw a tantrum in public."

"I am throwing a tantrum?"

Gemma let out a breathless laugh, rolling up her sleeves like she was ready to swing.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Enough, Gemma. Let's go."

I wasn't going to make a scene for strangers to film.

"Go where? Sierra, you are a complete pushover!"

Gemma glared at me, furious at my lack of fight.

"Jack, look yourself in the mirror."

"Sierra runs around this city every week buying you thermal gear with her own money. What do you do? You take another woman out to watch the southern lights."

"You finally come home, and you move her into your apartment and take her shopping for luxury gear."

"If you want to break off the engagement, have the spine to say it out loud. Stop doing this disgusting, cowardly garbage!"

Jack's face turned completely black. The other shoppers were starting to stare.

"Sierra."

He glared at me. His voice was absolute ice.

"Take your friend and leave. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Embarrassing myself.

In his mind, my best friend defending my five-year relationship was an embarrassment.

"Okay."

I nodded slowly. I grabbed Gemma's wrist and walked out of the store.

I didn't hesitate for a single second.

When I got home that night, the living room was completely dark.

I walked in, swapped my shoes, and started toward my bedroom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a ripped cardboard box sitting on the coffee table.

It was the package holding the custom polar star projector I ordered two months ago.

I had planned to set it up in the living room next Friday, for our five-year anniversary. A massive surprise.

Because he once told me the stars over the Antarctic ice were the most beautiful thing in the world, and he felt bad I would never get to see them.

Now, the box was empty.

A faint, ethereal blue glow was spilling from beneath the crack of the guest room door.

I walked over. I pushed the door open.

Stella was lying on the bed, holding her phone up, recording a TikTok.

Projected onto the ceiling above her was the exact map of the South Pole night sky I had custom ordered.

"Hey guys, just doing a quick room tour to show off this insane gift the Captain got me. Isn't this the most romantic aesthetic ever?"

She smiled perfectly into the front-facing camera.

I stood in the doorway.

"Who gave you permission to open my mail?"

My voice was deadly quiet.

Stella gasped, nearly dropping her phone onto the mattress. She sat up, recognized me, and dramatically clutched her chest.

"Jesus, Sierra, you walk so quietly."

"I asked you a question. Who told you to open that box?"

I repeated, not moving an inch.

"You mean the projector?"

She pointed at the ceiling.

"The Captain said it was a PR sample from one of the institute's vendors. He said it was just taking up space in the living room, so he told me to use it for my lighting."

A PR sample.

I spent four hundred dollars on that projector. I waited eight weeks for the custom lens calibration.

And he treated it like a piece of junk taking up space, handing it off to another woman to make content.

"Give it back."

I walked over to the outlet and ripped the cord from the wall.

The galaxy instantly vanished. The room plunged into darkness.

"Sierra, what the hell are you doing?"

Jack had just walked through the front door. Hearing the commotion, he stormed into the room and slammed the wall switch. The harsh overhead light flooded the space.

He saw me holding the projector, and Stella sitting on the bed looking like a kicked puppy.

"I am taking back what belongs to me."

"It is a cheap promotional sample! Are you seriously going to cause a scene over this? Stella needed it for a shoot. What is the harm in letting her borrow it?"

His tone was dripping with that familiar, patronizing exhaustion.

"I bought this."

I stared directly into his eyes.

"I bought it for our five-year anniversary next Friday."

Jack froze.

The irritation on his face cracked. His eyes darted away, suddenly unsure.

"Five years... I thought the shipping label said it was from the Institute."

"Do you ever bother to read the name on the box?"

I held the heavy plastic projector to my chest. A profound, hollow exhaustion washed over me.

"Fine. I'm sorry. I misread it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, throwing out a half-hearted, dismissive apology.

"Take the thing back. On our anniversary, I'll take you to that fancy French place in Manhattan you've been talking about. We good?"

We good.

It was always like this. He would toss out a superficial compromise from his high horse, expecting me to catch it and be grateful.

I looked at him.

"Don't bother."

I walked out of the guest room with the projector.

I stopped next to the kitchen trash can.

I opened my hands.

Crash. The projector slammed against the bottom of the bin, the custom lens shattering into pieces.

Jack had followed me out. He watched it happen, his face turning an ugly shade of gray.

"Sierra, what is wrong with you lately? I said I was sorry. What exactly do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you."

I brushed the dust off my hands.

"The projector is dirty now. I don't want it anymore."