Chapter 4 - The Broadcast
The television anchor’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the living room.
“...and in developing news from the severe winter storm gripping the northern ranges, military coordination efforts have successfully reached the crash site near Ridge 4. Authorities credit the rapid deployment and tactical oversight of Lieutenant Colonel Abigail Turner, who assumed immediate command of the emergency extraction…”
The coffee cup slipped from my father’s fingers, crashing onto the glass-topped coffee table. Dark liquid splashed across the surface before dripping onto the rug, but neither he nor my mother moved.
On the screen, high-definition footage showed me standing tall against the blowing snow, barking concise orders into a tactical radio, my insignia catching the harsh glare of the floodlights as a rescue basket was safely hoisted into a hovering chopper.
Jason walked into the living room, a half-empty mug of coffee in his hand, yawning loudly. He stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes hit the screen.
“What am I looking at?” Jason muttered, squinting.
“That’s…” My mother’s voice caught in her throat. She pressed her trembling hands against her mouth, staring at the television screen as if seeing a ghost. “That’s Abby.”
“No way,” Jason scoffed, stepping closer to the television, his smug expression faltering for the first time. “That’s... that’s some commander. That’s not our Abby. She just... she does paperwork or whatever. She’s just playing soldier.”
“Look at the insignia, Jason,” my father said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. He slowly turned his head to look at the doorway where my ruined duffel bag had sat just hours before.
May you like
The telephone on the kitchen wall began to ring. Then the landline in the hallway started chiming. Within five minutes, both phones were ringing continuously, one call after another. Neighbors, old family friends, and distant relatives were calling to ask the same bewildering question: Why did you never tell us what Abigail actually does?
My father sat frozen in his chair, the cracked coffee cup leaking dark coffee onto his slippers, while the reality of what he had thrown out into the snow began to settle over the house like an avalanche.
