But that morning, I was not a soldier.
I was a father negotiating muffin crumbs.
“Daddy,” Sophie said, holding up a blueberry muffin like evidence, “if I eat half, can we go to the park?”
“If you eat half without wearing the other half.”
She looked down at the crumbs already covering her butterfly denim jacket.
“Too late.”
“Then we negotiate.”
She grinned.
For a few seconds, the world was simple.
Then Victoria Stanton walked in.