Chapter 5 - THE EXIT IN THE DARKI turned my back on the table, walking steadily toward the heavy wooden exit doors of the tavern.
Behind me, Gunny Vance’s voice rang out sharp and clear: "Room! Attention!"
Every chair scraped back in unison. Two dozen Marines snapped to attention as I walked past them, their eyes following me with a mixture of absolute reverence and lingering shock. Even the bartender paused mid-pour, watching me with wide eyes as I reached the door.
I pushed it open and stepped out into the crisp North Carolina night air.
The autumn wind hit my face, cool and refreshing after the stuffy, beer-soaked atmosphere inside. I took a deep breath, pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders, and walked toward my rental car parked under the flickering streetlamp.
Before I could reach the door, hurried footsteps echoed behind me on the pavement.
"Viv! Wait! Please, just wait a second!"
I stopped, turning slowly. Dominic jogged up to me, his dress uniform jacket unbuttoned, his face flushed and sweating, his hands trembling slightly in his pockets.
"Are you happy now?" Dominic blurted out, his voice a mix of anger and sheer humiliation. "You completely humiliated me in front of my entire squad! How am I supposed to lead those men tomorrow when they know my own sister is a major who treats me like a boot private?"
I looked at my little brother, feeling a deep, quiet pity mixed with unyielding resolve.
"I didn't humiliate you, Dominic," I said softly. "You humiliated yourself the second you decided that building yourself up required tearing me down."
"I was just joking around!" he protested, throwing his hands up. "That's how guys talk in the Corps! We rib each other, we horse around—"
"There is a difference between camaraderie and condescension," I interrupted, stepping closer. "You've spent your entire life hiding behind Dad's shadow, pretending that my service doesn't count because I wear blue instead of green, because I sit in a command chair instead of a dirt trench. Well, reality check, little brother: the battlefield doesn't care what color your uniform is. When missiles start falling, nobody asks whether the pilot is a man or a woman, an older sister or a younger brother. They just pray to God that Sticky Six shows up to pull them out."
May you like
Dominic opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. The defiance melted away, leaving behind the younger brother who used to cry when he scraped his knee on the driveway.
"Go back inside, Dominic," I said gently, touching his shoulder. "Finish your party. Enjoy your promotion. You earned those stripes. Just remember how you earned them—and remember who was watching your six while you did it."
