"You said he never reconciled who he was in the field with who he wanted to be at home," I say. "How do you do that? Make peace with the damage?"
"You start by accepting that both versions are real. The operator who makes impossible choices. The man who regrets them. You don't bury one to protect the other. You learn to hold both."
"That sounds like therapy talk."
"It's survival talk." Helena's expression softens. "David tried to be just the operator. It killed him. You tried to be just the man by hiding in the wilderness. It isolated you. Neither extreme works. You need both."
It makes sense even if execution feels impossible. "Don't know if I can do that."
"You're already doing it. Running tactical operations while caring about Traci's emotional recovery. Operator and uncle. Both at the same time."
She's right. It's an uncomfortable truth. Like she's seeing past every defense I've built.
"You're good at this," I say. "Reading people."
"Had a lot of practice." Helena moves to the woodstove, adds another log. Sparks rise in the darkness. "Married to a man carrying damage he wouldn't discuss. You learn to read what people won't say."
"Must have been hard."
"It was lonely." She doesn't turn around. "Loving someone who won't let you in. Who keeps every emotion locked down because vulnerability feels like weakness. Who stays in operator mode because it's safer than being human."
The description cuts closer than I'm comfortable with. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"I think you're trying. Which is more than David managed." She turns. Faces me. "But I also think you're scared. That letting people in means losing control. That caring about anything makes you vulnerable in ways you can't afford."
"Vulnerability gets people killed."
"And isolation kills you slowly." Helena moves closer. "Eli, you survived Syria. You survived years alone in the wilderness. You're strong enough to survive being human again."
I want to believe that. I want to accept that strength and vulnerability aren't mutually exclusive. But Delta Force drilled different lessons. Emotional control. Tactical discipline. The understanding that caring too much compromises operational effectiveness.
"What if I can't?" The question comes out rougher than intended. "What if the damage is permanent?"
"Then you learn to function with it. Like David should have done. Like I should have helped him do before it was too late." Her voice cracks. First break in the professional composure. "I failed him, Eli. Saw the damage eating him alive and I didn'tpush hard enough to make him deal with it. I let him keep burying it until there was nothing left but operator mode and guilt."
"That's not your fault."
"And Syria's not yours." She holds my gaze. "We both carry responsibility for things we couldn't control. Question is whether we let it define us or whether we move forward."
The parallel lands hard. Both of us carrying guilt. Both trying to function despite damage that won't fully heal.
"How do you move forward?" I ask.
"You find something worth living for beyond survival." Helena's expression shifts. "For me, it was the clinic. Helping people in ways David wouldn't let me help him. For you, maybe it's Traci. Giving her the safety and stability you didn't have after Syria."
"And what happens when the threat's eliminated? When Traci doesn't need protection anymore?"
"Then you figure out who you are beyond the operative." Simple answer. Terrifying implications. "But you don't do it alone. That's the mistake David made. Trying to handle everything himself instead of letting people help."
I process this. The offer underneath the advice. Helena positioning herself as someone who understands this territory. Who's willing to help navigate it if I'll let her.
It's dangerous territory. The kind that compromises tactical discipline and creates emotional complications I'm not equipped to handle.
But also the kind that feels less like weakness and more like something I've been missing for years.
"You're volunteering for that?" I ask. "Helping me figure out how to function as something other than an operative?"
"I'm volunteering to be honest with you. Which is more than most people will offer." Helena steps closer. Near enough I haveto fight the urge to close the gap. "You're not broken, Eli. You're damaged. There's a difference. Broken can't be fixed. Damaged just needs time and support and someone willing to see past the tactical exterior."
