Chapter 2 - The Door at 2 A.M.
Eight hours earlier, the world should have been quiet.
Emily’s apartment just off base had been still except for the air conditioner clicking on and off and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Her uniform hung over the back of a chair, pressed and ready for morning. Her boots were aligned by the door because old habits remained even when she was exhausted. Outside, the military housing street was empty in that late-night way that makes safety feel believable.
Then came the pounding.
Not a knock. Not a mistake. Fists hit the door hard and fast, each strike shaking the frame like the person outside was not asking to enter but proving he could. Emily sat up, heart kicking once against her ribs. For a split second, memory pulled her somewhere else: Syria, radio static, hard impacts in the distance, a room where every sound had to be classified as threat or not threat before the next breath.
“Emily!” a man barked from outside.
Richard.
Her stepfather’s voice cut through the apartment like an old injury reopening. Richard Mason had walked into her childhood with flowers for her mother and rules for everyone else. He had smiled at neighbors, shook hands at church, and taught Emily the map of hiding places in her own home. She had joined the Navy partly to serve, partly to survive, and partly to put an ocean between herself and that voice.
She reached for her phone, fingers clumsy with sleep and dread. Before she could fully unlock it, the lock snapped. The door flew inward and slammed against the wall.
May you like
Richard filled the doorway, breathing hard, alcohol on him, eyes swollen with anger. Behind him stood Linda, frozen on the walkway, wrapped in a coat she had not bothered to button. She saw Emily. She saw the broken lock. She saw Richard step inside.
And she said nothing.
