Lila
Hampton, Virginia
The phone feels heavier than usual, the screen lighting up with my mom’s name. I stare at it for a moment, hesitating, but then the familiar warmth of her voice floods through.
"Hey, sweetie. How are you holding up?" Her voice is always a comforting balm, but today it only reminds me of the ache in my chest.
I swallow hard, trying to force the tightness in my throat to go away. "I'm...managing, I guess." My voice cracks, betraying me, but I quickly try to cover it. "You know, just taking things day by day."
A couple of days after Logan left, I finally faced the music and called my parents. The moment I heard my mom’s voice, the dam broke—I told them everything. How Logan had known Lincoln, how he had been there when my brother died, how he had kept it from me until now.
To my shock, they already knew.
My dad had looked into the demo team months ago, piecing things together from the details I’d shared about the man I was seeing.
He’d figured out the truth before I ever had because he recognized Logan’s name instantly since he’d been Linc’s wingman.
I was furious—first, that they had investigated Logan instead of just trusting in my choices, and second, that they had kept something so earth-shattering from me.
But when I confronted them, their answer was simply that it wasn’t their story to tell. It was Logan’s. Since I can’t be mad at everyone, I’m working on moving past this.
There’s a pause on the other end, then a gentle sigh. "You don’t have to be strong for me, honey. You can tell me the truth. You know I understand."
I press the phone tighter to my ear, as if it can offer me some relief.
"I’m not sure what the truth is anymore, Mom.
" My words come out quieter than I intended.
"I—" I stop myself, choking on the weight of everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. "Logan…he’s haunted by everything he’s been through. I saw it in his eyes."
My mom’s voice softens, a concerned edge creeping into her tone.
"I can only imagine how hard this must be on him.
" Of course she sees it as a mom. As much as I appreciate the lack of Logan-Bash-Sessions my friends and family have attended, it would probably feel good to call him an asshole or something.
"Yeah, but he..." I trail off, fighting the lump in my throat, tears threatening to spill, but I hold them back. I’ve been crying so much lately, and I’m tired of it. “He lied, Mom.”
“Yes he did, baby. And I know that had to hurt you terribly,” My mom answers, but it sounds like she wants to say more.
“He knew Lincoln. How are you not more upset? He was there when Linc died. He didn’t tell me. He let me fall—” I cut myself off.
“Everything you’re saying is true. Dad and I were shocked and a little uneasy to say the least. But I don’t think he wanted to hurt you. I think he stayed quiet as long as he did because he was scared of doing exactly that.” Her voice is even and I want to scream. How is she so calm?
“Lincoln died because—”
My mom cuts me off before I can regret the words on the tip of my tongue.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence without thinking it through.
Do you think for one second if there were any way to get Lincoln back, I wouldn’t take it?
Do you think if there was even a possibility someone did something wrong, if we could blame anyone other than enemy insurgents for your brother’s untimely death, that your father wouldn’t have gone to hell and back to make sure it happened? ”
I sigh, remembering that Dad said he had downloaded and printed all of Logan’s Air Force records right after Lincoln’s accident.
That he scoured through them trying to be able to blame him for what happened.
Then last week he admitted he did it a second time—downloading fifteen years’ worth of information—when he realized Logan’s who I’ve been dating.
All he found—either time—was a laundry list of achievements. My mouth had fallen open as Dad recited them over the phone.
Graduated at sixteen from high school. Top of his class at the Air Force Academy.
Top of his class in UPT—Undergraduate Pilot Training—guaranteeing him a fighter slot.
Top of his class again in IFF—Introduction to Fighter Fundamentals—moving on to fly F-16s.
Where he met Linc. Earned several medals for aerial flight, heroism, joint task force missions, even one from NATO.
This was all before I met him in Vegas while celebrating being selected for a Raptor squadron after he’d finished his Formal Training Unit—top of his class in that, too.
I knew he was good—anyone who’s ever watched him fly knows that.
But this? This is something else entirely.
You don’t just wind up flying an F-22. You don’t get a call sign that carries weight, or a reputation that follows you unless you’ve earned it a thousand times over.
Logan didn’t just become a fighter pilot—he became one of the best in the world.
At thirty-two, he’s already done what most pilots spend their entire careers chasing. Top of his class. Combat-proven. Selected for the most elite airframe in the Air Force. The kind of pilot that gets his name spoken with respect in rooms he’s never even stepped into.
And yet, he never talks about it. Never boasts.
Never so much as hints at how impressive he is.
Just carries the weight of it—the expectations, the losses, the sacrifices—as if they belong to him alone.
For a minute, I allow the pride swelling in my chest to overpower the anger, hurt, and confusion.
I blink a few times, realizing my mom’s been talking.
“When you told him about your brother, was it easy? You had no idea Logan even had any kind of connection to Lincoln and you still waited before sharing. You told me yourself that it came out when you were upset, flew out before you could stop it.”
“So he just ices me out?” My voice is tight. I sound exhausted.
"That’s his way of trying to heal, Lila. Your father has done the same thing," she says, her voice a little firmer now.
I exhale sharply, squeezing my eyes shut.
My thoughts swirl around in a frantic haze.
The frustration and uncertainty claw at me from the inside.
"I just...I think I tried so hard to be there for him, and it wasn’t enough.
But it isn’t just his grief. He’s broken.
And because of everything that’s happened I—" I swallow hard, the words escaping before I can stop them. "I’m broken now, too."
I hear her take a breath on the other end, like she’s bracing herself for what’s coming next. "Lila...honey, what else happened?" I’ve only told Alinna and Ivy, and even then, I hid the ugliest part from them.
I don’t love you.
My stomach churns at the thought of everything I’ve been carrying.
The pain of him walking away without so much as a backward glance.
Leaving me with a shattered heart and the echo of his absence.
I want to tell her, to scream it all out, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
"He just disappeared. Like I wasn’t even there. Like nothing between us mattered," I say, the words coming out ragged. "I don’t know why, Mom. I don’t know what I did to make him leave me like that."
"Honey..." Her voice is gentle, the kind of softness that only a mother can give. "He’s carrying something heavy. He shut you out because he didn’t want to burden you with whatever he’s holding inside."
He took a missile meant for me.
Systems failed.
Murphy’s fucking Law at its finest.
I shake my head, feeling the ache of his absence flood through me. "I wanted to help him. I wanted to be there for him, to carry some of that weight. Mom, I can’t… I don’t think I can fix him."
It should’ve been me.
"Hear me, darling. He’s overcome with grief but that doesn’t mean you weren’t enough." Her voice is rich with understanding.
I close my eyes, the words ringing in my ears. "But what if I wasn’t?" The doubt lingers in my chest, impossible to shake.
The silence that follows feels like an eternity.
I hear my mom’s soft breath on the line, then she says something that makes my heart ache even more.
"Hon, you are enough. You’re more than enough.
Sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help.
They bury their heartache deep and chase healing in their own way, like a silent pursuit of something they can’t even name yet.
Logan’s grief might be louder than his words, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t searching for a way through it. ”
I let out a long breath, feeling like I might finally break under the weight of everything I’ve been holding in. "I know, Mom. I’m just...I’m so tired. Of everything. Of missing him. Of missing us. I thought we were getting somewhere, and then..." I close my eyes tightly. "Then he was just gone."
God wasn’t giving me anything. He was reminding me that I destroy everything I touch.
Her voice is steady. "Maybe it’s not your time yet, honey."
I swallow hard, feeling the pain settle deeper into my bones. "I hate that I want him to come back to me."
She doesn’t answer right away. She just lets the silence hang between us for a moment, then says softly, "We don’t always get to control who stays or who leaves, Lila.
But you do control how you move forward.
It’s okay to feel the hurt. It’s okay to miss him.
But don’t let that stop you from healing.
You deserve more than being stuck in a place of what-ifs. "
I nod, my hand gripping the kitchen counter in front of me, the cold seeping into my overheated palm. "I don’t even know where to start. How do I heal from this?"
"You start by allowing yourself to feel everything. Then you take the steps that feel right, even if they’re small. One foot in front of the other. And remember, I’m here."
Her words soothe me in a way nothing else has in the last few days. "Thanks, Mom. I love you. Tell Dad I love him."
"I will. I love you too, Lila. And we’re proud of you. Don’t forget that, okay?"
After the call ends, I sit in silence for a few moments, my body trembling from the emotional weight of the conversation. I can still feel Logan’s presence lingering in my thoughts, around my kitchen, on my body.