PART 2

The applause that followed Commander Ashford’s declaration was not merely a sound; it was a physical force, a tidal wave of vindication that crashed against the walls of the Harborview High School auditorium. It started as a low, confused rumble, rippled through the front rows as comprehension dawned, and then exploded into a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the dust from the velvet curtains. But for me, the world had gone silent. My entire universe had narrowed down to the single focal point on the stage: Elliot.

He stood there, frozen, his diploma clutched in one hand like a fragile lifeline. He looked so tall. When had he gotten so tall? The last time I saw him, I could still look him in the eye without tilting my head back. Now, he was a young man, broad-shouldered in his graduation gown, staring down at me with an expression that shattered my heart into a thousand jagged pieces. It wasn’t just joy. It was shock. It was confusion. And beneath it all, a desperate, aching relief that I had actually kept a promise.

Commander Ashford offered me his arm. His face was a mask of stone-cold discipline—the same face he wore before breaching a compound in Abbottabad or engaging insurgents in the Arghandab Valley. But his eyes, usually hard as flint, held a warmth that only teammates who have bled into the same dirt can understand.

“Shall we, Chief?” he asked, his voice cutting through the noise like a command.

“We shall,” I replied. My voice was steady, but my knees felt like water. I had faced Taliban snipers with a slower heart rate than I had right now.

We walked down the center aisle. The walk felt less like a procession and more like a tactical movement through hostile terrain that had suddenly surrendered. The crowd, the same two thousand people who had been ready to jeer at me moments ago, now parted. I saw the usher who had tried to eject me pressed against the side wall. His face was drained of blood, his mouth opening and closing silently, like a fish pulled onto a dock. He couldn’t meet my eyes. Next to him, the Marine veteran who had accused me of stolen valor sat heavily in his folding chair, staring at the floor, his face flushed with a deep, crimson shame.

I did not look at them with anger. I did not look at them with triumph. In the world I come from, you do not spike the football when you score. You do not gloat. You secure the objective, you assess the environment, and you move on. Today, the objective was Elliot.

I reached the front row. There was an empty seat right in the center, saved for a ghost who wasn’t supposed to show up. I sat down. Ashford took the seat to my right. The nine other SEALs filed in, taking the seats surrounding me, forming a perimeter of dress blues and gold insignias. It was a defensive formation, instinctive and precise. A phalanx of brotherhood.

On stage, the principal, a man who looked like he had aged ten years in the last five minutes, cleared his throat into the microphone. Feedback screeched, but nobody flinched. He stammered through the rest of the names, but the energy in the room had shifted irrevocably. Every eye kept darting back to the front row.

When the ceremony finally ended and the caps were tossed into the air—a chaotic cloud of blue polyester—I stood up. I didn’t wait for the recessional. I moved toward the side stairs of the stage just as Elliot was coming down.

“Mom?” His voice was small, cracking slightly on the syllable.

He stopped on the bottom step.

“I’m here, El,” I said, stepping forward. “I told you I’d try.”

“You did,” he said. He looked at the wall of Navy SEALs behind me, then back at my face. “You really did.”

He stepped off the stair and hugged me. It wasn’t the bear hug of a child; it was the tentative, testing embrace of an adult who isn’t sure where the boundaries lie anymore. I squeezed him tight, breathing in the scent of cheap deodorant, hair gel, and that specific, dusty smell of a high school gymnasium. I felt the fabric of his gown, the heat of his skin. For a second, just a second, I let myself close my eyes and pretend that this was normal. That I was just a mom who worked in accounting, whose biggest stress was finding a parking spot, not a Tier One operator with a confirmed kill count and a bounty on her head.

“Good to see you, Elliot,” Ashford said, stepping up beside us.

Elliot pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Commander. You guys… that was…”

“Necessary,” Ashford said, his tone clipping the end of the sentence. “Standard operating procedure for when civilians lose their situational awareness.”

“We need to move,” Ashford’s voice dropped an octave, shifting from polite to operational. It was a low growl in my ear, meant only for me.

I pulled back from Elliot completely, the operator mode instantly overriding the mother mode. I looked at Ashford. His face was neutral, but his eyes were scanning the upper balcony, the exits, the shadowed corners of the gym.

“Situation?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

“We clocked two tangos in the north parking lot,” Ashford murmured, barely moving his lips. “Taking photos of the plates on the rental. Taking photos of the boy through a telephoto lens. We intercepted a burst transmission on a scrambled frequency. They aren’t local.”

My blood ran cold. The warmth of the reunion evaporated, replaced by the icy clarity of combat. The adrenaline that flooded my system wasn’t the jittery kind; it was the cold, slowing-down-time kind.

“Who?”

“Cartel,” Ashford said. “Specifically, the remnants of the Baja cell we dismantled six months ago. The brother of the HVT we put in the ground. They know you’re here, Reaper. And they know he is here.”

I looked at Elliot. He was smiling at a friend, a girl with braces and a bouquet of roses, completely unaware that a target had just been painted on his back. The joy of graduation, the pride of the moment, it all turned to ash in my mouth. I had brought the war home. I had committed the one sin an operator can never commit: I had led the wolf to the sheep.

“Extraction plan?” I asked.

“Convoy is staging at the south exit. We have thirty seconds before the crowd blocks the egress. We need to get the boy and go. Now.”

I turned to Elliot, forcing a bright, fake smile onto my face. It was the hardest physical action I had ever performed, harder than carrying a 200-pound man up a mountain.

“Hey, kiddo,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Change of plans. The team… they want to take us out to celebrate. Big dinner. Steaks. But we have to go right now to beat the traffic.”

Elliot frowned, pulling back slightly. “Now? Mom, I haven’t even found Jenna or Marcus. I need to say goodbye to my friends. I have my diploma holder in the gym.”

“We can text them,” I said, my grip tightening on his arm. “We really need to go, Elliot.”

“You’re hurting me,” he said, looking down at my hand. “Why are you acting weird? You just got here. Can’t we just take five minutes?”

“Elliot,” I said, putting every ounce of command authority I had into my voice while keeping the volume low. “Get. In. The. Car.”

He saw something in my eyes then. Maybe it was the fear I was trying to hide, or maybe it was the steel that I couldn’t suppress. He stopped arguing. He nodded, confused and hurt, but compliant.

We moved. It wasn’t a walk; it was a tactical extraction disguised as a family exit. The ten SEALs formed a diamond formation around us. To the casual observer, it looked like an honor guard. To a professional, it was a moving shield wall. We pushed through the crowd of milling families, ignoring the stares and the whispers.

“Is that her? The SEAL woman?” “Look at those uniforms.” “Can I get a picture?”

We burst out the side doors into the blinding afternoon sunlight. The air was fresh, smelling of cut grass and diesel. Two black SUVs were idling at the curb, engines purring with the deep rumble of reinforced horsepower.

“Mom, what is going on?” Elliot asked, his voice rising in panic as he saw the vehicles. “This isn’t a dinner reservation. These are… government cars.”

“Get in,” I shoved him into the back seat of the lead SUV and climbed in beside him. Ashford jumped into the front passenger seat. Two other SEALs, Miller and Davis, took the driver’s seat and the rear. The doors slammed shut with the heavy thud of armored plating, sealing us in.

“Go,” Ashford commanded.

The tires screeched as we peeled away from the curb, leaving the celebration behind. Elliot scrambled to look out the rear window.

“My friends are back there! Mom, talk to me!”

“Keep your head down,” I snapped, pushing his head below the window line.

“Why? Are you crazy? What is happening?”

“We are being followed,” I said, deciding that the truth—or at least part of it—was the only way to keep him quiet. “There are bad people who want to hurt me, and because you are with me, they might want to hurt you too.”

Elliot stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief. “You mean… like terrorists?”

“Something like that.”

“You said you were an analyst!” he shouted, pulling away from my hand. “For years, you told me you were a logistics analyst! You said you worked in supply chains! You said your biggest danger was carpal tunnel!”

“I lied,” I said flatly. “I lied to keep you safe. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

The SUV swerved violently as we hit the highway on-ramp. I looked at the side mirror. A grey sedan was weaving through traffic three cars back, matching our speed.

“Contact rear,” Miller shouted from the driver’s seat. “Grey Honda. No plates. He’s closing fast.”

“Lose them,” Ashford ordered. “Don’t engage unless they show a weapon. We are in a populated area. No collateral damage.”

Miller floored it. The SUV’s engine roared, a beast unleashed. We cut across three lanes of traffic, horns blaring around us. A minivan swerved to miss us, slamming into the median. I flinched. That was on me. That family’s fear was on me.

Elliot was thrown against the door, and he let out a cry of pain.

“I hate this!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face. “I hate you! You ruin everything! You miss my whole life, and then you come back and turn my graduation into a freaking action movie!”

“I am trying to keep you alive!” I yelled back, my own composure cracking. “Do you think I want this? Do you think I want my son in the line of fire?”

“Then why did you come?” he demanded. “If you knew it was dangerous, why did you come?”

“Because I missed you!” The words ripped out of my throat, raw and bleeding. “Because I couldn’t stand the thought of missing one more moment. Because I am selfish, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I am selfish!”

Silence filled the car, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the whine of the engine and the radio chatter.

“Contact is closing,” Miller said. “He’s aggressive. He’s trying to PIT us.”

I looked back. The grey sedan was right on our bumper. I saw the passenger window roll down. A glimmer of metal.

“Gun!” I shouted. “Get down!”

I threw my body over Elliot, pressing him into the floorboards.

Pop-pop-pop.

Three distinct impacts thudded into the rear liftgate. Bulletproof glass spiderwebbed but held. The sound was dry and terrifyingly loud inside the cabin.

“We are taking fire,” Ashford said calmly into his radio. “Team Two, engage.”

The second SUV, trailing us, swung into the left lane. I couldn’t see it, but I heard the sickening crunch of metal on metal. There was a screech of tires, a loud crash, and then the radio crackled.

“Target neutralized. Vehicle disabled. We are continuing on route.”

I didn’t move. I stayed draped over my son, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was shaking violently. I stroked his hair, realizing his graduation cap had fallen off somewhere on the floor mat.

“Is it over?” he whispered into the carpet.

“Not yet,” I said. “Stay down.”

We drove for another two hours. The cityscape gave way to suburbs, then to farmland, and finally to deep, dense woods. We were heading to a safe house—a decommissioned CIA black site that Ashford kept off the books for emergencies like this.

When the car finally slowed and crunched onto a gravel driveway, the sun was setting, painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. The cabin looked abandoned, overgrown with vines and surrounded by towering pines that blocked out the sky. But I knew inside it was a fortress. Reinforced doors, independent power grid, stocked armory.

“We’re here,” I said, pulling Elliot up.

He looked at me. His face was streaked with tears and grime from the floor mat. He didn’t look like a boy anymore. He looked like a victim. And I was the perpetrator.

“Where is here?” he asked dully.

“A safe place.”

We hustled inside. The team immediately went into protocol. Miller and Davis began securing the perimeter, setting up trip sensors in the woods. Ashford started unpacking the heavy gear from the trunk—assault rifles, plate carriers, night vision goggles.

Elliot stood in the middle of the dusty living room, still wearing his graduation tie, looking utterly out of place among the weapons and the warriors.

“Sit down,” I told him, pointing to a worn leather couch.

“I don’t want to sit.”

“Elliot, please.”

“No!” He spun around. “I want answers. You owe me that. You owe me the truth. No more ‘logistics analyst.’ No more lies.”

I looked at Ashford. He gave me a subtle nod, grabbed his rifle, and walked into the kitchen to give us space.

I unbuttoned my blouse, revealing the black tactical undershirt I wore beneath it. I took the chain with the Trident from around my neck and placed it on the coffee table. It made a heavy clunk sound.

“Ask,” I said.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Really.”

“I am a Chief Petty Officer in the United States Navy. I operate with SEAL Team 6, Red Squadron. My specialization is reconnaissance and direct action.”

“You kill people.” It wasn’t a question.

“I neutralize threats to the United States and its allies. Sometimes, that means killing people. Yes.”

Elliot looked at the Trident. “And the people chasing us?”

“Six months ago, my team raided a compound in Sinaloa. We captured a high-value target—the son of a cartel boss who was brokering deals with Hezbollah. We shut down a pipeline of weapons and drugs. The father put a price on my head. Five million dollars.”

“Five million,” Elliot repeated, his voice hollow. “And you came to my graduation with a bounty on your head.”

“I thought I was clean. I used a fake passport. I took civilian transport. I ghosted my own file. I did everything right.”

“Except you stood up,” he said. “Or… they stood up. In the auditorium. You made a scene.”

“I was being kicked out. I panicked. I didn’t want to leave you.”

“So you chose your pride over my safety.”

“I chose you!” I stepped closer, my hands shaking. “I chose to be there! Do you have any idea how hard it is? To be thousands of miles away, watching you grow up in photos? To miss the birthdays? To sit in a dirt hole in Syria wondering if you passed your math test while mortar rounds are landing fifty meters away?”

“Then quit!” Elliot screamed. “Just quit! Why didn’t you just quit?”

“Because I’m good at it!” I shouted back. “Because if I don’t do it, who will? Because there are monsters in this world, Elliot, real monsters, and someone has to stand at the door and keep them out so kids like you can go to prom and worry about college applications! I did it for you!”

“I never asked you to!” He was crying again. “I didn’t want a hero, Mom. I wanted a mother. I wanted someone to make me soup when I was sick. I wanted someone to teach me how to drive. Dad left before I was born. You were all I had, and you chose the Navy over me every single time.”

The truth of his words hit me harder than any bullet. He was right. In my desperate attempt to protect his world, I had absented myself from it. I had saved a thousand lives, but I had abandoned the one that mattered most.

I sank onto the coffee table, putting my head in my hands. “I know,” I whispered. “I know. And I am so, so sorry.”

The room fell silent. Outside, the crickets were chirping, oblivious to the drama inside. The smell of dust and old wood filled the air.

“Is it true?” Elliot asked quietly after a long time. “What Commander Ashford said? That you saved his life?”

I looked up. “Twice.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.” He sat down on the couch, leaning forward. “If we are going to die here, I want to know who my mother is.”

I took a deep breath. “Three years ago. Yemen. We were ambushed in a narrow street. Ashford took a round to the leg. He couldn’t walk. The insurgents were closing in, maybe twenty of them. The extraction helicopter couldn’t land because of the RPG fire.”

I looked at my hands—the scarred knuckles, the rough skin.

“The protocol says if a man is down and the team is at risk, you suppress and move. But you don’t leave a man behind. Never. I dragged him into a building. We held that position for four hours. I ran out of ammo for my rifle. I used my pistol. Then I used his pistol. When the birds finally came, I had three rounds left. Just three. But Ashford came home to his daughters.”

Elliot looked at me with a new expression. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was respect. Awe, even.

“You were scared,” he said.

“Terrified.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“That’s the job.”

“And tonight?” he asked. “Are you scared tonight?”

I looked at the door, where the locks were bolted. I looked at the darkness pressing against the windows.

“More than I have ever been in my life,” I admitted. “Because in Yemen, if I died, I just died. Tonight… if I fail, I lose you.”

“You won’t fail,” Elliot said. It was the first time he had offered me any comfort.

Suddenly, the lights in the cabin flickered. Once. Twice. Then they died completely. The hum of the refrigerator cut out. Total, suffocating darkness swallowed us.

“Ashford!” I barked, my voice changing instantly.

“Power cut,” Ashford’s voice came from the kitchen, calm and deadly. “They cut the line. They’re here.”

“Elliot, get down. Behind the couch. Flat on the floor. Do not move. Do not make a sound.”

“Mom—”

“Do as I say!”

He scrambled behind the heavy leather sofa. I reached into the duffel bag and pulled out my gear. Night vision goggles. My suppressed HK416. A combat knife. I strapped the plate carrier over my chest. I wasn’t Mom anymore. I was Reaper.

“Sitrep,” I whispered into the comms headset.

“Perimeter breached,” Davis reported. “Four hostiles approaching from the south tree line. Thermal confirms heavy weapons. They are moving professionally. This isn’t a hit squad, it’s a paramilitary unit.”

“Miller, take the east window. Ashford, back door. I have the front.”

I moved to the window, peering through the slats of the blinds. My night vision turned the world into glowing green phosphorescence. I saw them. Shadows moving through the tall grass. Spacing out. Covering angles. These weren’t street thugs. These were mercenaries who knew how to clear a house.

Thwip.

A sound like a staple gun. The glass of the window next to me shattered inwards.

“Contact!” I yelled.

All hell broke loose.

The front door exploded inward, kicked off its hinges by a battering ram. I didn’t hesitate. I double-tapped the first shadow that filled the doorway. He dropped.

Gunfire erupted from all sides. The sound was deafening in the small cabin, amplified by the walls. Bullets chewed up the drywall, sending plumes of white dust into the air like ghosts.

“Elliot, stay down!” I screamed.

I moved to the fatal funnel of the hallway, suppressing the front entrance. A flashbang grenade rolled across the floor.

“Grenade!”

I dove, tackling the couch, shielding Elliot’s body with my own armor plates.

BOOM.

The world turned white. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine. I felt the shockwave rattle my teeth.

Disoriented, I shook my head, trying to clear the vision. A figure loomed over us—a man in tactical gear, gas mask on, raising a rifle aimed right at Elliot’s head.

My rifle was out of reach.

I didn’t think. I reacted.

I launched myself up, driving my shoulder into the man’s midsection. We crashed onto the coffee table, shattering it. The Trident I had placed there sent skittering across the floor.

He was strong, heavy. He brought the butt of his rifle down, smashing it into my face. I felt my cheekbone crack. Blood filled my mouth.

He raised the rifle again to finish me.

I pulled the Karambit knife from my belt. With a guttural roar, I hooked it behind his knee, severing the tendon. He screamed and buckled.

I spun, driving my elbow into his temple, then the knife found the gap in his armor near the neck. He went limp.

I scrambled up, gasping for air, wiping blood from my eyes.

“Mom!” Elliot was screaming.

“I’m okay!” I shouted, grabbing my rifle. “Ashford! Status!”

“Kitchen clear! Two down!”

“Living room clear!” I reported. “One down.”

“We have movement on the roof!” Miller yelled.

Before I could react, the skylight above the loft shattered. A repel line dropped. A gunman descended, spraying automatic fire into the room.

I grabbed Elliot by the collar and dragged him into the hallway as bullets stitched a line across the floor where we had just been.

“Bathroom! Go!” I shoved him into the small bathroom and slammed the door. “Lock it and get in the tub! Don’t open it unless you hear my voice!”

I turned back to the fight. The gunman on the rope had landed. He was turning towards the hallway.

I raised my HK416. I breathed out. Time slowed down. The ringing in my ears faded.

Squeeze.

One shot. Center mass. He staggered. Second shot. Head. He dropped.

Silence fell over the cabin again. Just the sound of heavy breathing and the smell of cordite and copper.

“Clear,” Ashford called out. “South sector clear.”

“East sector clear,” Miller confirmed.

“Perimeter check,” I ordered, my voice raspy. “Make sure there isn’t a second wave. Confirm kills.”

I stood there in the hallway, chest heaving. The adrenaline was starting to fade, replaced by a searing pain in my cheek and the deep ache of bruises forming all over my body. I walked to the bathroom door. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. Blood dripped from my chin onto my tactical vest.

“Elliot?” I knocked.

The lock clicked. The door opened slowly.

Elliot was standing in the bathtub, his graduation tie crooked, his face pale as a sheet. He looked at me—at the blood on my face, the dead man in the hallway, the smoking gun in my hand. He looked at the monster I had become to save him.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t run.

He stepped out of the tub and walked over to me. He reached out and touched the bruise forming on my cheek.

“You saved me,” he whispered.

“I told you,” I said, leaning against the doorframe because my legs wouldn’t hold me anymore. “I will always come for you.”

He wrapped his arms around me, ignoring the blood, ignoring the hard ceramic plates of my armor. He held me like he was the parent and I was the child.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he sobbed into my neck. “I’m sorry I said I hated you.”

“It’s okay,” I smoothed his hair, leaving a bloody smear on his white collar. “You were right. You were right about everything.”

Ashford stepped into the hallway, stepping over the body of the mercenary. He looked at us, then lowered his weapon.

“Police are ten minutes out,” he said gently. “We need to clean this up. You two go outside. Get some air.”

We walked out onto the porch. The cool night air hit my face, stinging the open cut. The moon was out now, illuminating the wreckage of the evening. The trees stood silent sentinels, witnesses to the violence.

We sat on the steps, side by side. I ejected the magazine from my rifle and set the weapon down.

“So,” Elliot said, staring at the trees. “Is this… normal? For you?”

“Tuesdays are usually taco nights,” I said, trying to joke, though it came out as a wheeze. “This is more of a Friday thing.”

He laughed. It was a shaky, hysterical sound, but it was a laugh.

“You’re a badass, Mom.”

“I’m a mess, Elliot.”

“Maybe both.”

We sat in silence for a long time. The sirens were wailing in the distance, getting closer.

“I’m done,” I said suddenly.

Elliot looked at me. “What?”

“I’m submitting my retirement papers. As soon as the sun comes up.”

“You don’t have to do that just because of tonight. I mean… now that I know… now that I understand…”

“I’m not doing it because of tonight,” I said. “I’m doing it because of what you said in the car. You said you didn’t want a hero, you wanted a mother.”

I looked at him, memorizing his face in the moonlight.

“I’ve spent twenty years trying to save the world, Elliot. But looking at you right now… I realize I almost lost my whole world trying to save the rest of it. The world can find another operator. But you only have one mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The police lights flashed through the trees, painting the yard in strobes of red and blue.

“What are you going to do?” Elliot asked. “You can’t exactly work at Starbucks.”

I smiled. It hurt my face, but I smiled anyway.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll teach self-defense. Maybe I’ll consult. Maybe I’ll just learn how to cook pancakes without burning the house down.”

Elliot leaned his head on my shoulder.

“I’ll teach you,” he said.

“Teach me what? Self-defense?”

“No,” he grinned. “How to make pancakes.”

I put my arm around him and pulled him close. For the first time in twenty years, the war inside my head went quiet. The threat was neutralized. The objective was secure.

“Deal,” I said.

EPILOGUE

Two years later.

The morning sun was streaming into the kitchen of my small apartment, a few blocks from the university campus where Elliot was now a junior. The smell of coffee and… surprisingly, not burning batter… filled the air.

I flipped a pancake. It landed perfectly. Golden brown. Fluffy.

“Show off,” a voice said from the doorway.

Elliot stood there, holding a thick textbook on International Relations. He looked tired—finals week—but happy. His shoulders were relaxed. He wore a State University hoodie.

“It’s all in the wrist,” I said, sliding the pancake onto a plate and handing it to him. “Eat. You need the brain food.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He sat at the table. On the wall behind him, there was a small shadow box. Inside it was the Silver Star, the Purple Heart, and the Trident. The glass was dusted, but the medals shone. They were a part of history now. My history. A reminder of a life lived in the shadows so that others could live in the light.

But my present was right here, eating syrup-drenched pancakes and complaining about his Political Science professor.

“So,” Elliot said with a mouthful of food. “Jenna is coming over for dinner tonight. She wants to meet you properly. You know, without the SWAT team this time.”

I laughed. “I promise to be on my best behavior. No interrogation techniques.”

“And no background checks?”

I hesitated.

“Mom…”

“Okay, fine. I only ran a light background check. Just a standard DMV sweep. She has two speeding tickets, by the way.”

Elliot rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m vigilant.”

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat opposite him. I looked at my hands. The scars were still there, fading white lines mapping out a life of violence. The crooked knuckle from Kandahar. The burn mark from Yemen. But they were softer now. They held spatulas instead of rifles. They held my son’s hand instead of a detonator.

I thought about the team. Ashford was still in. He sent me a postcard from “somewhere sandy” last week. No return address, just a picture of a camel and a note that said ‘Not the same without you, Reaper.’

I missed it sometimes. I missed the adrenaline. I missed the brotherhood. I missed the clarity of the mission, where everything is black and white, friend or foe. Civilian life is messy. It’s full of grey areas and mundane problems like taxes and leaky faucets.

But then Elliot looked up and smiled at me, a genuine, unburdened smile that reached his eyes.

“These are actually really good,” he said.

“I told you,” I replied. “I’m a fast learner.”

The alarm on his phone went off. Class time. He chugged his orange juice and grabbed his bag.

“Love you, Mom!” he called out as he headed for the door.

“Love you too, El. Be safe.”

“Always.”

The door clicked shut. The apartment was quiet.

I walked over to the shadow box. I touched the glass right over the Trident.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the metal eagle. “For everything.”

Then I turned away, walked back to the stove, and turned off the burner. The mission was over.

Life had just begun.