The sun rose over the desert, painting the sky orange and gold. Captain Elena Vasquez stood at the window of the apartment, a cup of coffee in her hand, watching the day begin. Behind her, Marcus slept, his breathing soft, his face peaceful.
She had been home three weeks. Three weeks of waking up next to him, of cooking breakfast together, of walking the dog and watching TV and doing all the ordinary things she’d dreamed about during the long deployment. Three weeks of peace.
She hadn’t expected it to be hard. She’d thought coming home would be easy, that the war would end and she would
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