“My sister called me a leech at Thanksgiving in front of my brother-in-law’s commander because I drove an old Honda, never talked about my job, and looked like the easiest person at the table to dismiss—right up until the colonel pushed back his chair and made the whole room understand they had been wrong about me for years”

In 2015, Amanda met Jake. Jacob Pruitt. He was 24, a sergeant in the 82nd Airborne Division stationed at Fort Bragg. He was everything Amanda had been looking for—tall, square-jawed, confident, full of stories about jumping out of airplanes and running through obstacle courses in body armor. He had the kind of handshake that lasted a beat too long and the kind of smile that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

Amanda was captivated. She called me for the first time in months to tell me about him. I was at my desk at Fort Huachuca reviewing satellite imagery of a compound in a country I’m not going to name. Amanda’s voice was breathless.

“His name is Jake. He’s in the 82nd. He jumps out of planes, Amelia. Like actual combat stuff.”

She paused, then added, “Like actual military, not desk stuff.”

I let that one go. I’d been letting things go with Amanda my whole life. One more didn’t make a difference.