My old bedroom on the second floor smelled of old furniture polish and dried lavender.

The narrow twin bed and white pine dresser hadn’t changed since I left for West Point eight years ago.

At eleven o’clock, I stood in front of the dresser mirror, slowly unbuttoning the silver eagles from my shoulder straps.

My left thumb found my silver class ring and twisted the heavy band around my thumb joint again and again until the metal felt hot.

The mirror showed the sharp press of my uniform shirt and the quiet room behind me.