Lila
Arlington, Virginia
Arlington is quiet today. The kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones and makes you speak softer, walk slower. A hush born not from silence, but reverence.
The sky is a pale, hazy blue—washed out by the lingering warmth of a sun that hasn’t quite surrendered to autumn yet. The air is cooler than summer, but not yet sharp, holding that dry-crisp scent of changing seasons. Somewhere between warm earth and the first fallen leaves.
The trees that line the path like sentinels are still mostly green, but the tips have started to turn—burnt edges of gold and amber creeping across the canopy like a secret.
A few early leaves drift down with every soft breeze, fluttering across the gravel path and over the rows of white headstones that stretch into perfect, solemn lines—an endless sea of sacrifice.
I make my way up the familiar gravel path, the crunch under my white Converse the only sound. I don’t come here as often as I should. But I always come alone.
Section 60.
My breath falters when I see his name.
1st Lt. Lincoln Alexander Mercer
United States Air Force
Beloved Son.
Devoted Brother.
Fearless Wingman.
I kneel, brushing away a few leaves from the base of the stone, letting my fingers trace each letter. My big brother. My hero. The best man I’ve ever known.
“Hey, Linc.” My voice wavers on the cold breeze. “It’s September. Not quite fall yet, but it’s coming. The trees are starting to change—just the edges. Like they’re easing us into it.” I smile softly, wiping at the dampness gathering in my lashes.
I sit, drawing my cardigan tighter around my body, the early chill curling beneath the hem and into my thin sleeves.
“I’m visiting Mom and Dad,” I say gently.
“Mom’s still making your favorite, peach cobbler, and Dad’s still telling the same story about the time you snuck out to watch the Thunderbirds at Andrews when you were twelve.
He says it like it’s brand new every time—but it always makes Mom laugh. We talk about you. All the time.”
A long breath escapes me. I look around—the crisp white stones, the fading chrysanthemums left by grieving families, the flags that flutter. The weight of this place never changes.
“I met Logan,” I whisper and look down at my hands, twisting my fingers together. “You knew him. You flew with him.” My throat tightens. “You died for him.”
The words fall like stones. I’ve said them before. But never like this. Never to him.
“For ten years, he’s carried that. The guilt. The grief. He didn’t tell me right away. I don’t think he knew how. I think he was scared. Or maybe he thought I’d hate him for surviving when you didn’t.” My voice cracks. “But I could never hate him.”
A leaf lands softly on the top of the headstone, trembling in the breeze.
“He lost his wingman a few months ago,” I say quietly.
“His name was Ryan. Their base was under attack. Ryan died saving him, too.” I exhale, the ache in my chest sharp and deep.
“It’s killing him, Linc. The weight of it.
He’s still over there, still trying to get through it all.
And I know you understand what that does to a man. ”
I pause, swallowing hard.
“I think…I think you sent him to me,” I whisper.
“It sounds crazy. But I keep coming back to it. That one night in Vegas, years ago. And now this. Us, somehow circling each other all this time.” I look at the stone like I might find Lincoln’s smile in the grooves.
“It feels like more than coincidence. It feels like you knew I’d need him. And maybe that he’d need me.”
A breeze flutters through the branches, lifting my hair, sending more leaves tumbling like soft footsteps across the path.
“I love him, Linc,” I say, voice breaking. “I love him so much it hurts. And I don’t know if we’ll get our chance. Not really. He’s still broken. Still carrying so much. I’ve tried to give him space. Time. But some days, I wonder if I should’ve held on tighter.”
I close my eyes, resting my palm flat against the cool marble. “I wish you were here to tell me what to do. To tell me if he’s going to be okay. If I’m doing the right thing by giving him space. If he’ll ever let himself be happy.”
The wind moves gently through the trees, dancing shadows over the stone, the grass, my hands.
“I’ll come back soon,” I whisper, standing. “But if you’re listening…stay with him. Please. He still needs you.”