But anger was familiar territory.
I’d lived with it before.
I’d learned how to put it somewhere safe.
Logan stepped forward again.
“Dad, let me handle this.”
Grant smiled.
“Go ahead.”
There it was.
The permission.
The encouragement.
The reason Logan had become what he was.
Nobody had ever told him no.
Not really.
I looked at them both.
Father and son.
Same arrogance.
Different generations.
Then I heard Noah behind me.
“Mom.”
I turned.
He was standing on the porch.
His hands were clenched.
“Go inside,” I said.
“But—”
“Now.”
He hesitated.
Then obeyed.
I watched him disappear through the front door.
Only after it closed did I turn back.
Logan was smiling.
“You’re protecting your kid.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe you should protect yourself.”
I took a breath.
“Last chance.”
He tilted his head.
“For what?”
“To walk away.”
He laughed.
The crowd laughed with him.
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because they were mocking me.
Because they didn’t know.
They couldn’t see the years behind my eyes.
They didn’t know about nights when I had stood in places where the darkness itself seemed hostile.
They didn’t know about young soldiers who had looked at me before missions and trusted me with their lives.
They didn’t know how many times I’d heard someone say, “Ma’am, we’re good,” when everyone in the room knew they weren’t.
They didn’t know how many funerals I’d attended.
How many letters I’d written.
How many names I remembered.
They didn’t know that the woman standing barefoot on her front lawn had once spent years making decisions under pressure while other people waited for her answer.
And I preferred it that way.
My rank wasn’t a weapon.
My past wasn’t something I used to frighten people.
It was simply part of me.
A part I’d buried beneath grocery lists, school schedules, coffee mugs, oil changes, and fifteen-year-old arguments about homework.
That life was over.
At least, I’d hoped it was.
Logan walked closer.
“You know what your problem is?”
I didn’t answer.
“You think you’re better than everybody.”
“No.”
“You’ve been acting like you’re above me since I moved in.”
“I barely know you.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled.
“You think you’re better because you’re older.”
I shook my head.
“I think you’re behaving like an idiot.”
Several people gasped.
Logan’s smile disappeared.
Grant actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because he was enjoying himself.
“There she is,” he said.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The real Claire.”
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
He knew more than he should.
Or thought he did.
I had met Grant only a handful of times.
He’d asked questions.
Where did I work?
Where had I lived before Colorado?
Why did I move here?
I had given him polite answers.
Nothing more.
Apparently, he had been curious.
“You’ve been watching me,” I said.
Grant shrugged.
“It’s a neighborhood.”
“No.”
I looked at his phone.
“You’ve been watching me.”
His smile disappeared.
Logan glanced between us.
