Chapter 4: The Unopened Trunk
In the garage sat an olive-drab footlocker Daniel hadn't opened since he shipped out. It held his civilian life: old sketchbooks, a half-finished acoustic guitar songbook, and worn-out running shoes.
Clara found him sitting on an overturned crate, staring at the brass padlock.
"You don't have to force yourself to be the Daniel of two years ago," she said softly, sitting beside him on an old cooler. "We just need to meet the Daniel who came home."
"What if that guy can't be a father?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What if I scare her?"
"You protected her today, Dan. Your brain just mixed up the enemy with a broken cup," Clara said, taking his hand. "Give yourself the grace you'd give any soldier under your command."
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Daniel traced the cold metal of the lock. Inside that box was an artist who used to see color in everything. Right now, his world was painted solely in threat assessments and tactical gray.
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