I made myself present, physically, permanently, ten miles from her door instead of five thousand, not because she is weak, my wife is the strongest person I have ever known, but because the deepest protection I can offer anyone is not a recording or a federal contact or a clever strategy.

It is being there.

Near.

Reachable.

Home by evening.

The kind of present that means no one will ever again be able to hurt the people I love while counting on my distance.

I won the war against the Prescotts with my head.

But I have spent every day since winning a quieter and more important victory with my presence, the daily, unglamorous, permanent act of being close enough to catch the next call before it becomes a fourteen-hour flight.