Chapter 7 - Drawing Lines
My father’s hand fell back to his side. He stared at me, desperation etched into every line of his face.
“Thomas, please. Come home with me. Christmas isn't over. We can still have dinner. Just you and me. I’ll make it right. I promise.”
I looked at the man who had spent the last decade treating me like an afterthought. I thought about the holidays I had spent alone, the birthdays he had forgotten, the times he had praised Jason for buying a new sports car while ignoring my deployments.
“I am home, Dad,” I said, gesturing to the base around me. “These are my people. They don't ask me to hide who I am to make them comfortable.”
“You’re my son!” he cried.
“And you’re my father. I’ll always love you. But I’m not playing this game anymore. I’m not a prop you can pull out when Jason fails, and I’m not a nuisance you can lock in the closet when he succeeds.”
I turned on my heel and began walking toward the door.
“Thomas, wait!”
I stopped, looking over my shoulder one last time.
“Go home, Dad. Merry Christmas.”
I walked out of the visitor center, the cold winter air hitting my face, and for the first time in my life, I felt completely, utterly free. The shadow I had been living in wasn't real; it was just a trick of the light my father had cast. And I had finally stepped out of it.
When I returned to the barracks, the atmosphere was entirely different.
Sergeant Alvarez had ordered a massive spread of Chinese takeout, and the remaining soldiers were gathered in the rec room, laughing, playing cards, and watching terrible holiday movies.
When I walked in, the room went quiet for a moment. Then, Alvarez stood up and raised her paper cup of soda.
“To the Major,” she said with a grin.
“To the Major!” the room echoed.
May you like
I felt a genuine smile break across my face. I grabbed a plate, loaded it with food, and sat down at the table with my unit.
This was where I belonged.
