Chapter 8 - THE PEACE OF THE REALMThree months later.
The Texas spring had arrived in full bloom. The Hill Country photograph hung proudly in my foyer, its golden morning light reflecting off the polished hardwood floors.
My house was silent.
Not the tense, terrifying silence of an occupied zone waiting for the next rule to be imposed, but the deep, sweet, luxurious silence of absolute freedom.
I sat on my front porch in a comfortable wooden rocking chair, drinking hot tea from my blue pottery mug.
My phone sat on the small side table.
A text message from Major Sarah Lin had arrived an hour earlier:
DIVORCE FINALIZED. REAL ESTATE TITLE FULLY CLEARED. REIMBURSEMENT ORDER EXECUTED VIA WAGE GARNISHMENT. CONGRATULATIONS, CAPTAIN.
I picked up the mug, took a slow sip, and set it back down.
Ethan had moved into a small, one-bedroom basement apartment near his office in the city. His mother and sister were living in Houston, working low-wage retail jobs to pay off their mountain of debt, their high-society ambitions completely shattered by the reality of their own financial incompetence.
They had thought they could take my home because I was away.
They had thought a pink laminated sheet with four red words could bend a military officer to their whim.
They had forgotten one fundamental truth of military strategy:
You can occupy a territory while the owner is away. But when the commander returns to the field, the occupation ends.
I leaned back in my rocking chair, watching the sun set over the quiet Texas hills, painting the sky in brilliant shades of amber, gold, and deep violet.
I breathed in the cool, clean air of my front porch.
May you like
My house. My rules. My life.
And it was beautiful.
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