Tonight, I’m back for dinner. My mother will beam over Ethan’s promotion, my dad will nod approvingly, and someone will ask me if I’m “still deployed somewhere.” I won’t argue. I won’t correct them. Because tomorrow, when their CEO refers to me as “Colonel Rhys” in a room full of executives, that moment of realization will say more than I ever could. Let them have tonight. Tomorrow will rewrite everything.

The driveway seemed tighter than I remembered. My rental SUV felt too stark, too deliberate next to my mother’s dented crossover. I shut off the ignition and sat in stillness. My hands were steady—what we call operational calm—but my stomach twisted the way it always did before an assignment. The porch light cast a warm hue over the worn welcome mat. Nothing had changed, especially not the mixed feeling of being invisible and scrutinized the moment I stepped inside.

I rang the bell. “Cassandra!” my mom’s voice floated from the kitchen. “It’s open!”