A yellow taxi pulled onto the shoulder when the driver saw me waving under the streetlights.

“Please take me to the regional Coast Guard station,” I gasped, scrambling into the back seat. “My father is coming home from an offshore mission tonight.”

Hours later I walked, soaking wet, into the bright reception hall of the base. Captain Thomas Brooks — twenty-one years of service, most of it far from home — looked up and found me among the waiting families.

He did not smile. He took in my bleeding feet, gently took my phone, powered it off, pulled the tracking card, and led me into a private conference room.

When my wet sleeve slipped back to reveal the bruises on my arms, his face turned to stone.

I broke down and told him everything from the past three years.