At the academy graduation, my father scoffed under his breath, “Useless. She’ll quit like she always does.” I stood perfectly still at attention. Then Drill Sergeant Frey halted the ceremony, turned toward me, and raised his hand in a sharp salute. “Major,” he said, voice carrying across the field. “On extended assignment.” My father’s face drained of color.

“You always say that.” Dad walked past us toward the desk. “She’s always been fine. That was never the issue.”

I stepped back. “What was the issue?” Dad turned.

“The issue is that this family has never known what to do with you because you never commit to anything we can see.”

Mom whispered, “Victor.” But Dad continued.

“You vanish. You drift. You show up when it suits you. Tomorrow is Caleb’s day. I won’t have you making it strange with that quiet martyr act.”

I noted every camera in the lobby without looking. Then I looked at him. “I’m here for Caleb.”

“Then act like it.”

Caleb exhaled in relief, because peace in our family always meant I swallowed the blade.