“Mom.”
I turned.
He was standing on the porch.
His hands were clenched.
“Go inside,” I said.
“But—”
“Now.”
He hesitated.
Then obeyed.
I watched him disappear through the front door.
Only after it closed did I turn back.
Logan was smiling.
“You’re protecting your kid.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe you should protect yourself.”
I took a breath.
“Last chance.”
He tilted his head.
“For what?”
“To walk away.”
He laughed.
The crowd laughed with him.
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because they were mocking me.
Because they didn’t know.
They couldn’t see the years behind my eyes.
They didn’t know about nights when I had stood in places where the darkness itself seemed hostile.
They didn’t know about young soldiers who had looked at me before missions and trusted me with their lives.
They didn’t know how many times I’d heard someone say, “Ma’am, we’re good,” when everyone in the room knew they weren’t.
