“Your father talked about you all the time,” he said. “He used to show us your drawings. There was one of a dragon in rain boots that made its way through three separate offices because he wouldn’t stop carrying it around.”
Emma’s brows pulled together. “The green one?”
“The very one,” he said solemnly. “He told us the dragon was brave because rain boots are not regulation battle gear and it wore them anyway.”
A small, confused sound escaped her. It might have been a laugh trying to remember itself.
The general continued, “He also told us that if there was ever a dance or a recital or any big night he missed, and if somehow the universe gave us a chance, then one of us had better step in.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Daniel had said things like that. Always half-joking, always as if death or distance were merely logistical inconveniences that could be outsmarted by loyalty and planning.
The Marines remained motionless behind General Hale, but I could see something change in their faces, tiny shifts around the eyes, as if they too were no longer in a school gym but somewhere else entirely, carrying the memory of a man I loved through their own bodies.
Melissa made a small sound then, some uncertain intake of breath that suggested she wanted to reclaim the room by speaking. General Hale did not even glance at her.
Instead he lowered himself to one knee so he and Emma were eye level.
“I heard what was said to you,” he said quietly. “And I need you to understand something very clearly. You are not out of place. Not here. Not tonight. Not anywhere.”
Emma’s lower lip trembled. She looked at him with a seriousness that seemed too old for her face. “You really knew my dad?”
“I did.”
“Was he…” She stopped and swallowed. “Did he miss me?”
The general’s jaw tightened just once before he answered. “Every day,” he said. “And he was proud of you every day too.”
Tears rose to her eyes so fast I felt my own vision blur in sympathy.
General Hale stood again, slowly. Only then did he turn toward Melissa Harding.