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.

“Where’s Sophie supposed to sleep tonight, Eric? The garage again?”

His smirk faltered.

“She needed discipline. Megan agrees, don’t you, babe?”

Megan looked away, silent tears streaking her face.

I took a step closer, my voice low but steady. “Discipline doesn’t mean starving a child. You’re finished here.”