“You’re an admiral?” he finally asked, disbelief threading through his voice.
I nodded, feeling the full weight of the moment press down on my shoulders. “Yes, Dad,” I said gently. “I’m Rear Admiral Alex Callahan.”
The backyard, once filled with the murmurs of side conversations and the sizzle of the barbecue, was now utterly still. All eyes were on us, the revelation hanging in the air like a tangible thing.
My father’s expression wavered between pride and a kind of bewildered awe. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with something that might have been regret or perhaps a realization of all the moments he’d missed.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to,” I said, choosing my words with care. “It’s just… duty called. And there wasn’t exactly a Hallmark card for ‘Congratulations on becoming Admiral.’”
Reins let out a short, respectful laugh, breaking the tension like a spear through ice. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, shaking his head. “Admiral Callahan, leading Unit Seventy-Seven. We’ve heard stories, but I never thought I’d have the honor.”
His words seemed to spark something in the crowd, and soon the murmuring resumed, this time with a new intensity, the sound of opinions and realizations bouncing around like a pinball.
My father was still staring at me, his eyes searching mine. “Why didn’t you at least hint at it?” he asked.
“I didn’t want it to change things between us,” I replied honestly. “I’m still your daughter, Dad. That part hasn’t changed.”
He nodded slowly, the understanding settling in. “Well, I’m proud of you, Alex,” he said finally, the words carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken conversations.
“Thank you,” I replied, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “That means a lot.”
Reins, who had been observing the exchange with a practiced eye, stepped forward again, extending his hand. “It truly is an honor, ma’am,” he said. “If there’s anything you need, any time you need it, you just let me know.”
I shook his hand, grateful for the gesture. “Thank you, Commander,” I said, “but today, I just want a cold drink and some time with my family.”
He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I think we can arrange that,” he said, stepping aside to let me pass.
As I moved through the crowd, I felt the eyes on me, not with the weight of judgement, but with a newfound respect. My father walked beside me, his arm draped over my shoulders, a proud smile on his face.
“Let’s get you that drink,” he said, leading me towards the cooler where the ice was slowly melting. “And maybe after, you can tell me some of those stories.”
I smiled, feeling the tension of the past year slip away. “Maybe I will,” I said, enjoying the simple pleasure of being home.
And just like that, the world slipped back into motion, the chatter and laughter returning to the backyard, now infused with a new understanding and an unspoken promise of stories yet to be shared.