Epilogue
The smell of fire-grilled meat wafts through the air along with the voices of the guests. Helen is softly talking to Torres under the olive tree, while Cat and Mary walk among Elena’s crew as if they have been part of it for decades.
It still surprises me how different the surgeon is outside of the hospital, but I’m grateful to count her among my closest friends. I startle when an arm slips around my waist, but relax the moment two warm lips are pressed against the base of my neck.
“Look at that, our own little family. All here to celebrate you.”
I turn in her arms and raise myself on my tiptoes to kiss her lips.
“To celebrate us,” I correct her.
I could have never accomplished any of this without her support—her endless encouragement, pep talks when things went south or I hit a rough patch, and the celebrations when I was successful. Every bit of this is just as much her victory as it is mine.
“You,” she states again, raising an eyebrow that tells me not to press the matter any further.
I chuckle and glance down at the first issue of my magazine that I am holding in my hand. The glossy cover glints up at me. On it are two female soldiers, crouching low behind a burned-out car. The title is embossed in bold golden lettering above it.
BURN PROTOCOL
For women who walk through fire.