Then continued.
One day, somebody may tell you that love requires you to rescue them from consequences they created themselves.
It doesn’t.
That sentence broke me.
Not because Grandpa knew about Daniel.
He didn’t.
The letter had been written before Daniel’s company began collapsing.
Grandpa was not predicting my marriage.
He was simply teaching me one last lesson.
Help people who fall.
Be careful with people who repeatedly jump and demand that you become the ground.
I laughed through my tears.
That sounded exactly like him.
At the bottom he had written:
Buy something foolish for the baby. I spent eighty-six years being practical. One of us should have some fun.
So I did.
I bought Clara an absurdly expensive wooden rocking horse she would not be able to use for years.
Gloria called it ridiculous.
Rachel approved.
Grandpa would have pretended to hate it.
Part Ten — Six Months Later
Six months after Clara was born, I stood in dress uniform at a formal command ceremony.
Clara sat in Gloria’s lap in the front row wearing tiny noise-canceling headphones.
General Rhodes stood beside me.
