“When you left for the Army, everyone talked about how brave you were. Mom cried. Dad looked proud and terrified. Then you came back different, and nobody knew how to talk to you, so they treated you like you were untouchable.” She looked up. “And I was still just Ava. Loud Ava. Dramatic Ava. The one who says the wrong thing.”
Ryan shifted, but I gave him a slight shake of my head.
“That doesn’t excuse what I said,” she went on. “I wasn’t laughing at the uniform. I was trying to make sure no one looked too closely at me.”
I leaned back, letting that settle.
“I didn’t know you felt that way,” I said.
“You never asked,” she replied, a small tired smile on her face.
That was fair.
“I didn’t ask,” I admitted, “because after a while, home felt like another place I had to manage. I’d come in exhausted, hear a joke, and decide it was easier to leave than fight.”
She nodded slowly. “I know.”
Ryan finally spoke. “Last night, I reacted. In my world, that patch means people who carried a lot. I should’ve handled it better.”
“You handled the truth,” I said. “The timing was terrible.”
That pulled a small laugh from Ava.