Veterans of War, what was it like to come home?

The Protector

So I did some digging. I spent hours on social media piecing together fragments of information from Abigail’s posts and comments.

The man, Darren, wasn’t a hard man to find. He had a routine and habits that were easy to trace once you knew what to look for.

Public check-ins at the gym, photos tagged at his favorite bar, and even a few work-related posts gave me a road map of his daily life. One evening, I parked my car a few blocks away from their house.

The engine ticked quietly as it cooled. I felt a familiar tension work its way into my muscles.

It was the same feeling I’d had on missions, that heightened awareness and sharpened my senses. I watched their house from a distance, noting the comings and goings, the lights flicking on and off.

Darren left the house around 8:00 p.m., heading to the gym as he did every Tuesday. I followed at a safe distance.

My heart was pounding in my chest; the darkness hid me. He was a creature of habit, sticking to the same route and parking in the same spot.

I observed him from my car hidden in the shadows as he walked into the gym. The gym was a 24-hour place, and it wasn’t unusual for people to come and go at all hours.

I waited, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours, until he finally came out. He was sweat-soaked and carrying a gym bag.

He didn’t notice me as he walked to his car. I felt a rush of adrenaline.

I knew this was it. As soon as I was going to attack Darren, a man that seemed to recognize him showed up, and they started talking to one another.

I knew I couldn’t now because it would be too risky, so I waited in my car until they were done. But before I could get him, he was in his car.

The bar was his next stop. I followed him there, parking across the street and watching as he went inside.

The neon lights flickered, casting a sickly glow on the pavement. I waited, knowing that alcohol would make him an easier target.

Hours passed, and the bar began to empty. It was close to closing time when Darren finally stumbled out, his steps unsteady and his demeanor was aggressive.

I stepped out of my car. I felt my pulse in my throat.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. I shadowed him as he made his way to his car, walking as quietly as possible.

He didn’t see me coming. I grabbed him from behind and dragged him into the alley behind the bar.

I had caught him off guard, and he struggled, but I had the upper hand. I pressed him against the brick wall.

I didn’t hold back. I let out years of frustration on this dude.

When it was over, I walked away, leaving him in a state of minced meat and not the lean kind. I left that bar feeling accomplished.

I was proud of myself. I knew that guy wouldn’t be putting his hands on Abigail ever again.

Abigail never contacted me again after that, and I didn’t seek her out. I’d done what I could for her, and that was enough.

I found a strange peace in knowing that the last thing I did for her was protect her, even if it wasn’t the kind of protection I’d once dreamed of offering. Life went on.

I focused on my recovery, leaning on Mark and the support system I’d built. The nightmares never completely went away, and the pain of losing Abigail was a constant ache, but I learned to live with it.

I found new things to live for and new goals to strive towards. One day, as I was walking through the park, I saw a couple playing with their young child.

They were laughing; they seemed like the perfect family. I felt a sense of sadness, but also a bit hopeful.

Maybe someday I’d find that kind of happiness again. For now, I was content with the knowledge that I’d survived. I’d been to hell and back, but I was still standing, and that was enough.