My mother had reserved a private room weeks earlier for Jason’s celebration. There was supposed to be a cake. Madison had arranged flowers. My father had planned a toast.
None of us went.
Instead, I sat alone in my temporary office three hours later while the sun lowered behind the mountains and Fort Carson settled into evening.
The briefcase rested on the desk in front of me.
For the first time in years, it no longer felt like a burden.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
My mother entered first.
Then my father.
Madison stood behind them in the hall for several seconds before stepping inside.
She looked like she had been crying.
I did not stand.
Not out of disrespect.
Out of exhaustion.
My mother folded her hands tightly in front of her.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I looked from one face to the next.
