Chapter 6: Civilian Hours
The first civilian week moved without formation calls or radio checks, and the quiet felt louder than it should have.
Claire’s follow-up appointments mapped the healing of the wrist and the residual effects of the cold. She slept in stretches that lengthened as the bruises faded from deep violet to yellow. I learned the new locks by touch, verified the camera feeds each night, and took David’s calls in the study that no longer held my mother’s annotations about signatures.
Discharge paperwork from the unit still sat in a drawer. I had thought the hardest transition would be the absence of mission structure. Instead it was the presence of a house that had been occupied by people who treated my marriage as a temporary inconvenience. I ran the property the way I had run a checklist overseas—inventory, maintenance, access logs—until Claire put a hand on the clipboard and said, “You’re allowed to sit down without securing a perimeter.”
May you like
I sat down. The perimeter stayed secured anyway.
Natalie attempted contact through a mutual cousin. The cousin delivered a message about “family mediation” and “not dragging this through courts.” I thanked the cousin for the delivery and said all communication went through counsel. The cousin did not offer to carry a reply. Some people learn on the first trip.
