I stared at the screen, reading it three times, the words failing to compute. The Uber driver glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine for a second before he quickly looked away. Something in my face warned against conversation. Four deployments. Sixteen years of my life. I’d carried wounded soldiers under fire, had made decisions that saved lives and took them, had missed my children’s childhoods so other people’s children could grow up safe. And this was my homecoming.