I opened my mouth and gave the easiest answer first.
The next afternoon, Captain Ruiz called.
“Paperwork. Delays.”
But even as I said it, something in me tightened.
Because if I was honest, there had always been something off about the records after Daniel died. Too polished. Too thin. Too quick to close.
The next afternoon, Captain Ruiz called.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said. “There are some next-of-kin documents tied to the reopened review that I think should be delivered in person.”
Ruiz kept his voice careful.
An hour later he was at my kitchen table with a sealed envelope.
Grace hovered in the doorway until Ruiz looked at her and said, “You can stay. This is about your father too.”
Inside were releasable records, citations, witness statements, and one handwritten letter Daniel had mailed to his unit chaplain after a rough week, which had been kept in the file and recently cleared to be returned.
Ruiz kept his voice careful.
“The medal delay was real,” he said. “But reopening the commendation file also reopened questions around the mission itself.”
Daniel had gone anyway because that was his job.
I looked at him. “What kind of questions?”
He held my gaze. “Questions your family should have been told existed.”
I opened the mission statements.
By the third page I knew why he had not wanted to mail them.
The mission where Daniel died had been flagged in advance. Concerns about bad intelligence. Concerns about timing. Warnings from men on the ground.
Daniel had gone anyway because that was his job.
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