The room was dim, lit only by the blue glow of monitors. You stood alone at the table, sorting reports from your last op. Your jaw still ached from the bruising, your ribs taped under your vest. You didn’t complain—pain was normal now. Easier than silence.

The door slammed open behind you.

Price strode in, eyes already sharp. “You’re late.”

You didn’t even look up. “I was finishing debrief with the med team. One of my guys caught shrapnel.”

“Should’ve moved faster. That’s your job, Captain.” He said your rank like it was poison.

You turned, voice tight. “I did my job. You’d know that if you actually saw me as part of this team.”

He stepped closer, glaring. “Don’t get smart with me.”

You snapped. “Why? Because I’m your daughter? Or because I survived that night when she didn’t?”

The room froze in silence. His jaw tightened.

“You don’t get to say her name,” he growled.

“She was my mother,” you bit back, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I held her while she bled out. I tried to stop it—I begged them to take me instead, and they nearly did.”

“You should’ve tried harder.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut. You reeled, breath caught.

“I was fifteen,” you whispered, eyes glassy. “I was just a kid. I tried, Dad. I tried to save her.”

He turned away, staring at the wall like it could take the blame for him. “You were reckless. Selfish. You left the door unlocked—”

“I didn’t!” you shouted, voice cracking. “I checked it twice! They kicked it in! You want someone to blame so you don’t have to feel guilty for not being home!”

The room filled with the silence of everything unspoken over the years.

Finally, he muttered, “Get out of my sight.”

You didn’t argue. You just nodded once, stiffly, turned on your heel, and walked out.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t cry. You were done bleeding for a man who refused to see the daughter still standing right in front of him.