4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Walker
The things we do for our children.
I stare down at the wildly colorful drawing my daughter has created.
Complete with rainbow sprinkles raining from what appears to be a cotton candy sky.
The stick figure with curly hair is unmistakably Hailey, caught mid-scoop over an ice cream counter that looks suspiciously like it's made of chocolate.
"Do you think she'll like it?" Olivia asks, her blue eyes wide with hope.
"She'll love it," I say, secretly planning to mail it. Or maybe leave it on her doorstep. Anything to avoid another face-to-face encounter that leaves me feeling like I've been hit by a freight train of emotions I'm not equipped to handle.
Olivia bounces on her toes. "When can we take it to her? Today? Can we go today?"
I sigh. "Liv, I'm sure Hailey is busy with—"
"But you said thank-you notes should always be delivered promptly." She crosses her arms, throwing my own parenting wisdom back in my face with the precision of a tiny lawyer.
That's the problem with teaching your kid manners. They remember them at the most inconvenient times.
"Fine," I concede. "We'll drop it off. Quick in and out, okay?"
"Like a ninja mission?" Her face lights up.
"Exactly like a ninja mission." I tap her nose. "Stealth is key."
Twenty minutes later, we're standing on Hailey's porch, my daughter practically vibrating with excitement while I'm trying to remember how to breathe normally. The door swings open, and there she is—Hailey, in jeans and a faded blue shirt that matches her eyes perfectly. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she's wearing glasses I haven't seen before.
She looks soft. Approachable. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Walker! Olivia! What a surprise!" Her smile is genuine, and it hits me like a sucker punch.
Before I can execute our ninja drop-off plan, Olivia thrusts her artwork forward. "I made you a thank-you picture for the ice cream!"
"You did?" Hailey crouches down, accepting the paper with exaggerated reverence. "This is absolutely magnificent. Is that me flying through the air?"
"You're not flying," Olivia giggles. "You're jumping because you're so happy about ice cream."
"That makes perfect sense. I do feel jumpy around ice cream." Hailey looks up at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Would you two like to come in? I just made my grandma’s famous violet lemonade."
"We don't want to impose," I say, at the exact moment Olivia shouts, "Yes, please!"
"It's no imposition," Hailey says, stepping aside. "Unless you have somewhere to be?"
I don't. That's the problem. I have nowhere to be except inside my own head, which isn't exactly a fun place these days.
"Lemonade sounds great," I surrender, following my daughter inside.
Hailey's living room has a comfortable feel even though the photos are still leaning against the wall instead of hung. There are also a few boxes in the corner. The walls need a good paint job and I wonder which of the green shades she picked from when we ran into her at the hardware store.
"Make yourselves comfortable," she calls, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll just grab the glasses."
Olivia immediately plops onto the couch, picking up a small ceramic turtle from the coffee table to examine it. That's when I see them scattered across the table's surface like land mines.
Letters.
My letters.
The blood rushes from my face so quickly that I have to reach for the back of the couch to steady myself. The familiar handwriting—my handwriting—stares up at me accusingly. Some are unfolded, others are still in their envelopes marked with international postage. All of them addressed to my Red.
The letters I wrote during my last deployment.
"Daddy, look! It's a turtle family!" Olivia's voice sounds distant through the rushing in my ears.
I force myself to move, to sit, to appear normal while my past lies exposed on the coffee table between us.
Hailey returns with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of purple lemonade.
"Careful, these glasses are heavier than they look," she warns Olivia, who's already reaching for one with both hands.
"Thanks," I manage, accepting a glass of my own.
Hailey settles into an armchair across from us, tucking her feet underneath her. Her eyes flick to the letters, then back to me. "Sorry about the mess. I've been doing some reading."
"School stuff?" I ask, as if I don't know, as if my heart isn't trying to hammer its way out of my chest.
She hesitates, then reaches for one of the letters. "Actually, these were in the attic in a chest. I found them as I was unpacking. They're... well, they're incredible. Love letters from a soldier."
Olivia perks up. "Like a prince writing to a princess?"
Hailey smiles. "Sort of. More like a real hero writing to the person he loves most in the world."
I take a large sip of the lemonade, welcoming the sour bite. It gives me something to focus on besides the panic.
"I know I probably shouldn't have read them," Hailey continues, looking slightly guilty. "But the first one fell open when I was sorting, and I couldn't stop. The way he writes... it's like he's painting pictures with words. Making the desert sound beautiful and terrible at the same time."
I remember writing that exact phrase—beautiful and terrible. I was describing a sunset over sand dunes that stretched to the horizon, all pink and gold against the darkening sky. How I'd wished Red could see it, even as I was grateful she was safe at home, away from the danger.
Except she wasn't safe.
"Are you okay?" Hailey asks, and I realize I've been silent too long.
"Fine," I say quickly. "Just thinking about work."
Olivia, bored with adult conversation, slips off the couch. "Can I see your plants? Daddy says I'm good with plants because I remember to talk to them."
"Absolutely," Hailey tells her. "The ones in the window especially love conversation."
As Olivia skips away, Hailey turns back to me, her expression softening as she drinks her lemonade. “The letters have mesmerized me. I read one or two a night.”
"What makes them so special? They're just letters." I ask.
"They're not just letters," she says, with such conviction it startles me. "They're windows into someone's soul. This man—he writes about his fears, his dreams, how much he misses his girl. How he keeps going because he knows she's waiting." Her voice catches. "It feels like I know him. Like he's someone I could—"
She stops, a flush creeping up her neck.
"Could what?" I ask, even though I shouldn't.
"Could understand," she finishes, but I hear the word she swallowed: love .
Something twists in my chest. Hope and dread tangled together so tightly I can't separate them. She's connecting with a version of me that doesn't exist anymore. He was the man I was before grief hollowed me out, before I became this shell going through the motions of living.
"Daddy, look! This plant has purple underneath its leaves!" Olivia calls from the window.
The interruption gives me a moment to compose myself. "That's pretty cool, Liv."
Hailey sets the letter down, smiling at my daughter's enthusiasm. "That's a purple waffle plant. Good eye."
"We should probably get going," I say, setting my half-finished drink on the tray. "Thanks for the lemonade."
"So soon?" Disappointment flickers across her face.
"Thanks for having us," I say as Liv joins me at the door.
There's a moment, brief but electric, where we just look at each other. Where I could lean forward, where I could tell her the truth. Instead, I squeeze Olivia’s hand to remind me we have an audience.
"Goodnight, Hailey."
"Goodnight, Walker."
The drive home is short but feels infinite, my mind replaying every moment, every smile, and every word about those damn letters.
After dinner and tucking Olivia in to bed, I find myself in my office, opening the bottom drawer of my desk where I keep a few letters that were returned to sender. I pull out one at random, unfolding the paper with trembling hands.
My dearest Red,
I dreamed of home last night. Not our house, but you. You are my home wherever you are...
The words blur as tears fill my eyes. For the first time in years, I let myself remember writing these words. The hope, the love, the certainty that we had forever ahead of us.
I don't know how long I sit there, reading words I once believed with my whole heart. When I finally fold the letter and put it away, something has changed. A door I thought permanently sealed has cracked open, just enough to let in a sliver of light.
Maybe Hailey is right. Maybe these aren't just letters. Maybe they're a map back to the person I used to be—the person who knew how to love without fear.
I'm not sure I can find my way back there. I'm not sure I deserve to.
But for the first time in years, I want to try.