was escalating, snooping, appraising, threatening, and Mom was her shield. It was two against one, and I was done playing defense.
When I got back to the cabin, Jack was waiting on the porch. He looked at me the way only another veteran can look, reading tension in posture, in clenched fists, in eyes that won’t rest.
“You saw them,” he said, not even asking.
I nodded.
“They’re not backing down.”
He tossed me a beer.
“Neither are you.”
We sat in silence, sipping. Finally, I said, “Funny thing about combat zones, you expect the enemy. Family’s different. Hits harder.”
Jack nodded slowly.
“That’s because in combat, you know where the line is. With family, the line keeps moving.”
The beer was cold, the air colder, but I felt a fire inside me that no weather could put out. Megan wanted to push. Mom wanted me silent. But I’d been
