all week, I felt a spark of something I hadn’t felt since leaving Afghanistan: anticipation before a fight.
I cleaned up, stacked the papers neatly, and locked the box back under the floorboard. Then I stretched out on the couch, listening to the quiet of the woods outside. No sirens, no hum of city traffic, just the creek of the cabin settling into the night.
As I drifted toward sleep, one thought cut through the haze. Dad had left me exactly what I needed. Not just land, not just minerals, but a chance to finally stand on my own.
Sunlight filtered through the cabin’s thin curtains, and for the first time in weeks, I woke up without an alarm or the sound of boots stomping outside the barracks. My back ached from the couch, but the smell of pine and the quiet of the lake made it tolerable.
