But it did not.
“I’m not emotional,” I said. “I’m finished.”
My mother’s tears spilled over.
“You can’t just abandon us.”
I tilted my head.
For thirty-two years, they had abandoned me in rooms where I stood right in front of them. They abandoned me in photographs, conversations, ceremonies, holidays, and every silence where love should have been.
Now they wanted to call consequence abandonment.
“No,” I said. “I’m returning responsibility to its rightful owners.”
My mother reached for my sleeve.
I stepped back before her fingers touched my uniform.
Her hand hung empty in the air.
“The financial aid is permanently over,” I said. “Do not come to my base again. Do not contact my command. Do not send relatives. Do not use my name to repair what you broke.”
My father swallowed.
“And Serena?”
I looked at him for a long second.
Of course he asked about her.
