“Not anymore, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

I carried her straight to the base medic. The corpsman’s face went pale as he examined her—thin, dehydrated, covered in welts. While they worked, Sophie clung to my hand, as if afraid the walls themselves might betray her again.

I stepped outside and made one call—to a man who owed me.

That night, everything in the house I once called home turned upside down.

My wife, Megan, called me, screaming through the phone, but her words didn’t matter anymore. The truth had already been written in Sophie’s frail body.

After fifteen months in Afghanistan, I thought I was done with war. Instead, I found one waiting for me at home.

When I drove back, I saw him through the window—Eric, beer in hand, lounging on my couch like he owned the place. Megan sat across from him, rigid, guilt clouding her eyes.

I knocked once and stepped inside.