Sarah was warm without being overly familiar, direct without being demanding. She had a way of asking questions that made it difficult to hide behind the short, carefully chosen answers Frank usually preferred. During their first meeting, she'd asked what he wanted to do with his life.
"Something I'm good at," he'd answered.
"And what would that be?"
He'd considered the question for a moment.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
She'd smiled.
"Then I guess we've got some work to do."
Frank had returned the following week. And the week after that.
Eventually, their conversations wandered beyond employment and military experience. They talked about books, movies, places they'd traveled, and places they hoped to visit. He learned that Sarah loved music, enjoyed spending time with her family, and had a younger sister named Jane who seemed to be involved in nearly every story she told.
Sarah and Jane were exceptionally close. Their parents had divorced and the two sisters leaned on one another to get accustomed to their new way of life. They spoke almost daily, shared holidays, and rarely made important decisions without discussing them first.
Frank initially found the closeness unusual. His own life had involved long periods away from everyone he knew. He'd grown accustomed to relationships that could be interrupted without warning. Sarah didn't live that way. She made time for the people she cared about. And gradually, Frank discovered he wanted to be one of them.
Their professional relationship ended before he asked her to dinner. By then, he'd grown comfortable enough around her that the thought of spending an evening together felt natural rather than intimidating.
Six months later, they were married.
Jane stood beside Sarah during the ceremony, crying almost as much as the bride. Frank remembered Sarah laughing as she reached over to wipe a tear from her sister's cheek. For the first time in years, he felt that he belonged somewhere. When Jack was born, Frank discovered a part of himself he hadn't known existed. He'd faced dangerous situations without hesitation, yet holding his newborn son left him almost afraid to move. Sarah had laughed at the expression on his face.
"He's not going to break, Frank."
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure."
He'd looked down at the tiny face resting against his arm. Nothing in his life had ever seemed so important. The next three years were the happiest Frank could remember. They settled into a comfortable routine. Sarah continued working, Frank took on occasional consulting assignments, and Jack grew into an energetic little boy who seemed determined to explore every corner of their home.
Jane was a constant presence. Sometimes she came for dinner, sometimes to spend an afternoon with Jack, and sometimes simply because she wanted to see her sister.
Jack adored her.
Frank liked to joke that Jane was spoiling his son, though he rarely objected when she arrived carrying another toy or a bag of his favorite treats. Their life wasn't particularly exciting. Frank had come to appreciate that.
For three years, the memories of his military service grew quieter. He had Sarah. He had Jack. He had a life worth protecting.
Then a stranger fired a gun on a crowded Chicago street.
Sarah had been walking back to her car after meeting a friend for lunch. Police later described the incident as a suspected mob-related drive-by shooting. The intended target had apparently been standing outside a nearby business. Sarah had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Frank remembered the telephone call. The unfamiliar voice asking whether he was Sarah's husband.
The hospital. The way a doctor had looked at him before saying anything at all.
And the silence that followed. The same silence as that day in the base medical tent.
For days, he moved through the house almost mechanically. People came and went, bringing food, offering condolences, and promising to help in whatever way they could.
Jane stayed.
She took care of Jack while Frank handled the arrangements. She answered the telephone, organized the meals, and somehow managed to keep the household functioning.
At night, when Jack cried for his mother, Frank sat beside his bed and tried to explain something he couldn't understand himself.
Almost three years old.
Too young to comprehend what had happened, but old enough to know that someone important was missing.
Just like with Ben, Frank couldn't comprehend losing Sarah.
The loss he'd buried years earlier had never really gone away. It had simply been covered by the life he'd built with Sarah. Now both were gone. Both taken by random bullets.
He had spent years learning how to remain calm when everything around him fell apart. But nothing in his military training had prepared him for the quiet emptiness of a house after the funeral. Or how he was supposed to talk to his young son about his mother’s absence.
He tried returning to work. Tried filling the hours with projects around the house. He spent as much time as possible with Jack, taking him to parks, reading to him at night, and doing his best to maintain the routines Sarah had created.
Jane continued helping, becoming an essential part of their lives.
But Frank was lost.
It had been six weeks, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.
Then Jonathan called.
Frank didn't recognize the number.
"Frank?"
"Speaking."
"My name's Jonathan. We haven't met, but I know a little about your background."
Frank remained silent.
"I understand you spent some time overseas."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who might have an opportunity for you."
"I'm not looking for work."
"I understand."
"Then why are you calling?"
There was a brief pause.
"Because I think you might be interested in what I have to offer."
Frank looked toward the living room, where Jack sat on the floor playing with a collection of toy cars. Jane was beside him, helping arrange them into a long line.
For a moment, he considered ending the call.
"What kind of opportunity?"
"Something you're exceptionally good at."
Frank said nothing.
Jonathan continued.
"And something that pays very well."