Three Decades of Pretending Come to an End in a Military Holding Cell

“I’ll see you at home,” I said.

I walked out of the store and left the sandwiches lying on the dusty register.

The kitchen was dark when I came in at twenty hundred hours.

I’d spent the last four hours straightening up the garage, mostly to keep out of the house.

Only the little light over the stove was on, throwing a yellow glow over the granite island.

I spotted a pile of mail sitting next to the rusty master key.