In the days after, I received the predictable message from my mother: Your father’s blood pressure spiked. The scene you caused has been devastating. I hope you’re happy.
I deleted it. The old Sofía would have apologized. But I wasn’t her anymore.
Then came an email from General Thompson:
“Lieutenant Commander Gaviria,
Please forgive any disruption my recognition may have caused. You serve this country with distinction, and that honor stands, whether others see it or not.”
I printed that message and tucked it into my journal. It meant more than any apology my family could ever offer.
Letting Go
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