Chapter 2

Rain tapped against the black umbrellas, a dull, continuous sound.

The cemetery was a sea of solemn black.

Suppressed sobs came from all directions, everyone's eyes red-rimmed.

Dad's back had hunched significantly, his shoulders trembling, tears falling.

This time, the game was a big production; even Uncle Mark, who we rarely saw, was there.

Uncle Mark knelt down and put Mom's dog tag around my neck.

"Skylar, this is the only thing your mom left behind. Keep it safe."

Shovel after shovel of dirt fell, covering the flag.

Everyone was immersed in grief.

Except for me.

I was waiting for Mom to suddenly jump out from a corner, laugh, pick me up, and spin me around, saying:

"Gotcha! My Skylar is so brave!"

I'd played this game too many times.

Under the bed, inside the closet, and once, Mom even hid in an old trunk in the attic.

Every time, I found her, and we'd roll around laughing.

Mom would always say:

"Skylar wins hide-and-seek again!"

So, this time was no different.

Even if it was all very formal, with a lot of people involved.

But this had to be just part of the game, a new rule Mom set to make it more realistic.

After everyone had left, I asked Dad:

"Is the game over? I want to go back and wait for Mom now."

Dad pulled me into his arms, holding me a little too tightly.

His voice was hoarse:

"Skylar, Mom isn't coming back."

I looked at the tombstone, stubbornly arguing:

"Mom will come back when the game is over."

"There's no game anymore..."

Dad's hands tightened abruptly,

"Mom sacrificed herself! She's gone! She's never coming back!"

I was held so tightly I couldn't breathe.

I thought Dad must have forgotten the rules of the game, so I pushed his shoulder to remind him.

"But, Dad, what they buried was Mom's uniform, not Mom herself."

Dad's sobbing stopped abruptly, as if something had choked him.

He opened his mouth, his lips trembling violently, but not a single word came out.

Just then, Uncle Mark, who had given me the dog tag, called Dad aside.

The rain was heavy, but I strained my ears and still heard Uncle Mark's words.

"The blast radius was too close, too fragmented. There was nothing left to put back together."

"Only her combat uniform was found, barely pieced together."

"Robert, that's all there is. Please accept our condolences."