I had avoided this moment for years. After leaving active duty and moving into federal-state fugitive work, I gave my family the short version—intelligence support, investigations, task force operations. I never told the whole story. When I tried, people wanted movie details or got uncomfortable. Ava usually did both. Eventually, I stopped trying.
“Grace never told us,” Mom said softly.
“That was intentional,” I replied. “I didn’t want a speech. I wanted dinner.”
Ava let out a bitter laugh. “So now I’m the villain because I made one joke?”
“One joke?” Dad said quietly. “You’ve been taking shots at your sister’s job for years.”
She turned on him. “Because she acts like she’s better than everyone. She disappears, misses birthdays, shows up in uniform, and we’re all supposed to clap.”
That one hurt because it wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I missed birthdays because I was working,” I said. “Same as nurses, paramedics, cops. I’m not asking for applause.”
“No,” she snapped. “You just get it anyway.”
“Enough,” Ryan said under his breath.
She rounded on him. “Don’t tell me to stop. You humiliated me.”
“I corrected you.”
“You took her side.”
He met her eyes. “This isn’t about sides. It’s about respect.”