Chapter 6 - A Brother’s Ghost
Caleb drove aimlessly for hours, the headlights of his truck cutting through the thick North Carolina pine forests. He finally ended up at a small, run-down cabin near the Cape Fear River.
He knocked on the door. It was opened by Marcus, his former team leader who had been medically retired a year prior after losing his left leg to an IED.
Marcus looked at Caleb's bloodshot eyes and sighed. "You look like hell, Vance. Come on in."
Inside, the cabin was simple, smelling of woodsmoke and gun oil. Marcus handed Caleb a cup of black coffee and sat down, his prosthetic leg clicking softly against the floorboards.
"I walked out," Caleb admitted, staring into the dark liquid. "Grace is afraid of me. I'm jumpy. I can't sleep. Every time Leo cries, I feel like I'm back in the sandbox, failing to protect my team."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. He took a sip of his coffee. "You think you're the first guy to feel like this, Caleb? You think you're special because you're broken?"
"I'm a Soldier, Marcus," Caleb said, his jaw clenching. "I'm supposed to be the shield. If I'm weak, my family isn't safe."
"You've got it all wrong, brother," Marcus said, leaning forward, his eyes burning with intense sincerity. "Being a shield doesn't mean you don't get dented. It means you have the courage to get repaired so you can keep protecting. Showing Grace your wounds isn't weakness. It's the ultimate form of trust. You survived that ambush for a reason, Caleb. Don't let the sand take you now when you're already home."
Caleb stared at his friend. The hard, defensive armor he had built around his heart began to crack. He looked at Marcus's missing leg, then thought of his son's tiny face wrapped in that blue blanket.
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"I don't know how to stop the noise in my head, Marcus," Caleb whispered, his voice cracking.
"You start by asking for help," Marcus said gently. "For them. And for yourself."
