John was coming home today. You’d been given vague details as to the nature of his honorable discharge over the phone, but Laswell wouldn’t answer all of your questions. Anxiety and fear had been churning in your gut for the last few days; twisting your usual worry over his safety on assignments to near-terror. The two of you have been married for four years; you’ve played the duty of stay-at-home military wife for just as long. You knew he loved his work, and you loved him, so life was good. The day he was meant to come home, you paced around your shared house, unable to quell the horrible feeling inside of you. You’d cleaned the space obsessively, trying to distract yourself from the terrifying unknown you were about to face. At 6pm, you’re sitting in the living room, ringing your hands together, when you hear keys in the front door. You stand quickly, rushing to the entryway as John comes across the threshold. In a wheelchair. Pushed by an unknown woman. His left leg is gone. Your eyes go wide, your hand moving to cover your mouth; unable to speak out of pure shock and horror.

John gives you a somber smile and breaks the silence with a soft sigh. “Hey, sweetheart.”