“It was deployment,” he murmured. “The second one. Out in the desert for weeks. We got hit. Mortars. Close. No warning.” His breath snagged. “Everyone dropped. Training takes over—your body just moves. You don’t think. But he…” Morganswallowed hard. “My friend Benny froze. Just stood there in the open.”
He blinked rapidly, tears gathering again.
“I grabbed him. Pulled him down. Shoved him behind the wall with me. He was shaking so bad he couldn’t even hold his rifle.”
His eyes shut tight, pain pulling at every line of his face.
“I kept telling him we had to move. Had to run. But he just stared at me like—like I could fix it.”
Another breath. Shaky. Broken.
“And then the second mortar hit.” He flinched as though he felt the shockwave all over again. “It hit the wall. The part he was leaning on.”
His voice cracked. “He didn’t make a sound. He just—disappeared.”
He dragged a hand over his face, breath shaking, tears spilling unchecked.
“I didn’t even have time to check if he was alive. Couldn’t. I had to move. I had to keep going.”
He sucked in a fractured breath.
“And today… they asked us that question. ‘When did you realize you weren’t safe?’” He let out a broken laugh. “And that moment jumped out like my brain was right back there. Dust, heat, noise. Benny… just gone.”
He opened his eyes again, raw and shining.
He drew a ragged breath.
His voice dropped to a whisper. “And I feel like I’m failing Gabbi,” he whispered. “Every day. Every decision. I’m so scared I’ll get something wrong, and they’ll—take her. Or judge me. Or say I’m broken, and that I’m not enough.”
“Youareenough,” I said, the words leaving me before I could second-guess them. “You’re doing everything right. She’s safe.She’s loved. And you’re not alone, Morgan. You don’t have to be.”
He shook his head, overwhelmed, but he didn’t let go of my hand.
If anything, he held on tighter.
I shifted until our knees touched, closing the space between us, making it impossible for him to pretend I wasn’t right there with him.
“Look at me,” I said quietly.
He lifted his head—red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked face, every emotion stripped bare.
God. It wrecked me.
“We’re all here for you,” I said, then amended it. “I’m here.”
Something in him broke again—but quieter this time, and he leaned into me, shoulder brushing mine, still holding my hand as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.
Gabbi made a little sound, pressing her cheek to his chest, and Morgan’s grip fluttered as if he was trying to get himself under control again. His breath shook, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he shifted closer, our thighs pressed together, our joined hands resting on his knee.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like an exhausted reflex rather than a belief. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I want to seeyou,” I said, and he startled at the honesty in it. “Not the version you think you have to be.You.The person you are right now.”
His chin trembled. He blinked hard, as if he was trying to force back tears, but new ones slipped free anyway.
“Morgan,” I murmured, letting my thumb brush the back of his hand, slow and steady. “You don’t have to be okay with me.”
He exhaled on a broken sound—half sob, half relief—and turned his hand so our fingers laced properly, holding on as if he meant it.
