My Sister Sent Me a Package

My commander noticed it immediately. “Don’t touch that,” he said.

I frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

He didn’t answer right away—just pointed at the label. Half an hour later, the military police were standing in the doorway.

I’ve never made a big deal out of my birthday. No decorations. No dinner plans. Just another quiet Tuesday at Fort Peterson, a lukewarm coffee on my desk, and a pile of post-deployment paperwork from Okinawa waiting to be signed. That’s why the box caught my attention at all. Medium-sized. Plain brown cardboard. Sealed with almost obsessive neatness. My full name printed perfectly—too perfectly, considering half my official documents still get it wrong. Continue reading…