The morning air outside the regional military transit center in Columbus, Ohio, carried a sharp autumn chill, but Linda Thompson barely felt it because all her senses were fixed on her son. Ethan stood in front of her in a freshly pressed uniform that made him look older than his twenty-one years, his shoulders squared in a way that reminded her painfully of his late father. She reached up and adjusted the collar of his jacket, brushing imaginary dust from it just to have an excuse to touch him again. “You’ve got everything?” she asked, her voice steady in a way that surprised even her. Ethan gave a half-smile, the same one he used to flash when he wanted to convince her he hadn’t been sneaking cookies before dinner. “Mom, I promise. Boots, letters from you, the ridiculous protein bars you insisted on packing. I’m good.” She tried to laugh, and it came out almost convincing, though her chest felt tight enough to split open.
Around them, other families clung to each other, some openly crying, others whispering urgent advice as if the right words might form an invisible shield. Linda refused to be the mother who fell apart. She had told herself the night before, standing alone in Ethan’s bedroom staring at his high school football trophies, that she would not let him see fear in her eyes. “Listen to your training,” she said quietly, looking directly at him. “And don’t try to be a hero just to prove something.” Ethan let out a soft breath and shook his head. “I’m not going over there to prove anything. I’m going because it’s my job.” She swallowed hard at that word—job—because it sounded so ordinary, so harmless, compared to the reality she had seen on the news. “Just come back to me,” she said, barely above a whisper. He pulled her into a tight embrace and replied, “That’s the plan, Mom. That’s always the plan.”
