God, that was a wild and crazy time.
I was running on caffeine and adrenaline, trying to help as much as I could, while moving up in rank. I felt horrible being deployed after the kids came along, but Sarah insisted we’d be okay.
We were, for a few more years—or looking back, maybe we weren’t.
I could tell she was tired and stressed to the max. I tried to do what I could from afar, but it’s not like I could hop on a plane and come home. The Air Force owned my ass for the next six years.
I’d never felt more helpless in my life.
Mom was a saint. She visited as much as she could when I was deployed. It was a huge relief knowing Sarah wasn’t alone with three children under the age of three.
When I returned home, Mom thought she was doing us a favor by insisting we spend some time together—that’s how Lizzy arrived nine months later. I swear, we were careful, but apparently, we were destined for baby number four in four years.
For a while after Lizzy was born, I thought things were back on track. We were making it work. While I was deployed to Afghanistan that next year, everything changed. Sarah decided she couldn’t do us any longer, and I essentially got the worst letter of my life.
God, it sounds fucking ridiculous all these years later, admitting I got a Dear John letter, but that’s what it was. I loved her enough to let her go—plain and simple. I knew I couldn’t be the husband she needed, and ultimately, she deserved better than me.
Since that day, I vowed to be the best father I could, even from afar. When stationed around the world, I moved heaven and earth to spend time with my girls. I insisted their lives remain as normal as possible, but I wanted them with me as much as they could be on breaks from school and during each summer. Mom was crucial in helping me keep our parenting plan in place throughout the years. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.
I’ve met a few women over the years, but since time was a limited resource, and I spent every spare moment with my daughters, nothing ever worked out. My girls will always come first. It’s as simple as that.
When my wrist vibrates with an incoming text, I stop to read it.
Harper:
Have a quick in-and-out that shouldn’t take more than a day or two. You interested?
Enzo Harper is a good buddy of mine from flight school. Since his retirement about ten years ago, he’s worked for a private security firm based in Portland. They not only protect civilians, but they also do contract work for the government. I’ve been on a few joint missions and know Riggs runs a tight operation.
After retiring, they were down a pilot and called in a favor. It was a quick transport flight from Portland to LA. Not only did it get me back in the air, but it gave me an opportunity to do what I’ve spent my life training for.
It was the best of both worlds: I got into the action but wasn’t committed to anything beyond that mission. Best of all, I made it home just in time for Milli’s school performance without my family being any the wiser.
Me:
What time is wheels up?
Harper’s response is immediate.
Harper:
Depends on how fast you can get here. Riggs has the plane on standby at SIA when you’re ready.
Shit, there goes my plans for the day. Guess my project will have to wait. They must need me if they’ve already got the plane ready at the airfield in Seaside.
Riggs insisted on having one housed here if they needed me. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.
Me:
Finishing a run—wheels up in 90.
Harper:
Roger That. See you soon.
Without another thought, I flip over to the family group chat.
I swear now that I’m retired, my girls are worse than my mother ever was about my whereabouts. They don’t want or expect details, but they have asked I keep them apprised when I leave town.
