Slowly, the fog in my mind lifts. Where am I? What happened? I look around but see only a doctor bending over me.

And then I remember.

I lift my hand and see bandages around my wrist. Fuck.

“Sergeant Tilman, I’m glad you’re back with us.”

That’s a sentiment I can’t share.

I still feel the same way about my life. I don’t want to live as a cripple forced to rely on others! And I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Fire didn’t want to live, either. How could someone live like this? So dependent on others, on other people’s pity? It goes against the very idea of being a grown man. And how can I be a soldier if I don’t stand a chance of using my leg again?

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, but we were able to stop the bleeding in time,” the doctor says.

That’s fucked up. Why doesn’t anybody ask me what I want?

And then he says the dreaded words: “You’ll be under strict observation over the next few days. Do us a favor and don’t try that again.”

Suicide watch. Great. I wonder if this talk has ever helped anybody before. Sure, man, I don’t want to live anymore, but I’ll just keep living to do you a favor. Right.

“You’ll be staying here in this ward for now,” he goes on. “A psychologist is coming to see you soon.”

Like I haven’t had enough of that already. But okay. One more won’t do any more harm.

Dark thoughts on my mind, I lie in bed for a few hours. I don’t know whether I want to try again. Obviously, I’m useless even when it comes to suicide. A fucking loser. Fuck! Why did this happen to me? Why? What kind of fucked-up fate has robbed me of my leg? And of everything else with it? Fuck!

“Sergeant Tilman,” says an older woman with gray hair, stepping up to my bed.

“Ma’am.”

“I’m Dr. Wilson.” She smiles at me warmly for a moment. “You’re safe here. Nothing you say is going to leave this room. You’re currently dangerous to yourself. I understand you’re in a difficult situation. It is not easy to adapt to new circumstances, but there’s no reason to despair.”

Sure, easy to say when you’re not in my shoes. Well, shoe.

“Part of your therapy will be to talk to other veterans at this facility,” she continues. “Some are currently in the process of setting up new lives for themselves, others have already done it. You still have a long life ahead of yourself if you want.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

“We can’t keep you here forever,” she says. “But I hope that, while you’re here, you’ll learn that living with a prosthesis is not the end of the world.”

“I doubt it.”

“That’s your right. But we’ll still try.” She looks at her documents. “Why don’t you tell me about Mackenzie Hall?”

I flinch and wonder what Mac will think when she hears about my suicide attempt. She’s going to be disappointed. Fuck.

“Why do you want to talk about her?” I ask.

“She’s on your blacklist. Why don’t you want to see her?”

I run my hand over my face and flinch when I feel the pain in my wrist. “I just don’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have as much time as you need.”

Once again, I realize I have a choice. I can keep my mouth shut like I did in Germany. Or I can talk about it.

On my first deployment to Afghanistan, it helped to talk about everything

“She’s…the love of my life.”

Dr. Wilson nods slowly, like she was expecting something like that. “Tell me about her.”

I put my head back and close my eyes for a second. Where do I start? “When I first met her, I hated her. I thought she was just a gold digger trying to suck my dad dry.”

“How old were you then?”

“Seventeen. My brother Carey and I went to see my dad in San Diego one summer, and there she was. I hated her and tried to make her life hell. For months. But she didn’t make a run for it. And the more time I spent with her, the more fascinated I became with her. I thought she was hot from the beginning. God, she drove me crazy. But…”

“But?”

“My antipathy toward her was stronger. I didn’t want her in our life. Or should I say: I didn’t want her in my dad’s life. I just wanted to get rid of her, fuck her and send her out into the desert.”

“Did it work?”

“No. Mac’s not that type of girl. She’s good and pure and nice. She didn’t want my dad’s money or me. I came on to her several times in a way I’m pretty embarrassed about now, but she didn’t go for it. She loved my dad. Or loves him. They have a child together now.”

“How do you feel knowing she’s happy and moving on, and you’re not?”

“Torn. I want her to be happy. Nobody deserves it more than she does. She deserves goodness in her life. But at the same time, I wish so much she could experience that goodness with me. That I was the one making her happy. But I know it’s never going to happen. Especially not now.”

“Why is it never going to happen?”

“Why do you think? Even if I wasn’t a cripple, what would I do—raise her and my dad’s kid with her? It’s an impossible situation. And now it’s all over, anyway.”

“Why don’t you let her decide?”

“She’s made her decision. She chose him.”

Dr. Wilson nods slowly. “Not an easy situation.”

I shake my head. “No.”

She’s quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I don’t believe there’s only one person you can love in your life. I believe there are many people each of us can fall in love with if we let ourselves. But only we can make that decision for ourselves. We can decide to leave the past behind and make a new start.”

* * *

Hours and days melt into each other. I don’t really know whether one day has passed, or four, or thirteen. I do know that at some point I’m fitted with a temporary prosthetic. It’s supposed to help me get used to the feel of wearing a prosthetic and help the techs decide how the final model needs to be shaped to give me the greatest possible freedom.

Then I find myself inside the physical therapy room for the first time. I sit in my wheelchair, staring at the thing attached to my stump. That is supposed to carry me?

Before I can even try it out, the door is pushed open forcefully.

“Ma’am, you can’t go in there,” a small blond woman is trying to explain to the intruder.

I look up, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see Mac pushing her way in. She’s not paying any attention to the woman in front of her as she looks around the room. When she sees me, she comes straight toward me. She’s carrying a child. A little girl.

Fuck, no.

No!

I can’t do this.

Mac shakes her head, as stubborn as ever, and comes closer. Before I can say anything, she puts the little girl in my lap and steps back.

I’m petrified. This little girl is my half sister. She must be. She gives me a curious look and smiles shyly.

“What are you doing, Mac?” I hiss quietly, not wanting to scare the kid.

Mac crosses her arms in front of her chest. “If neither Carey nor I are a good enough reason for you to live,” she says, her eyes red with tears, “then she is. She is your reason to live.”

“Take her away.”

“No.”

What is she thinking? That I’ll love this kid—my half sister—so much it’ll change my mind about life? It’s laughable.

“She’s Carter’s kid,” I snap. “Make him take care of her.”

Mac laughs bitterly. “Carter’s child? Look at her, Hunter! There’s only one man who could be her father.”

What? The little girl slides a bit off my leg, but like it’s a reflex, I hold on to her—tight. I’m not sure if I’m squeezing too hard—I don’t want to hurt her. I put both arms around her, ignoring the pain shooting through my wrists.

Is she… Is she my daughter?

I look at her face, and she’s smiling up at me, all interest and blind trust. Her brown eyes are just like mine. She has my hair, too. She looks like my mom when she was little. I can see her childhood photographs in front of me. And if she looks like my mom, then Carter can’t be her father…

My eyes shoot up to Mac. “Mine?”

She nods tearfully. “Yes, yours, Hunter. She’s your daughter.”

I look at the little creature, try to spot more similarities. The curved upper lip and full lower lip are just like the mouth I see in the mirror every day. She has nothing from Carter. Just like in me, my mom’s genes are definitely dominant here.

My daughter.

I cannot believe it. My daughter.

How is this possible? We used condoms! I went to Carey’s room to get new ones. Can I address that? Am I an asshole if I do?

“But…”

“Yes?” Mac asks, her eyes wet.

I can’t ask her. What would that sound like? Like I’m doubting her. Do I want that? I realize then that I don’t. Mac has never lied to me. Why would she be doing it now?

I remain silent, so she says, “Ask me, Hunter. Whatever it is. It’s better if we talk about it.”

I nod. That makes sense. Or is it a trap?

“We used condoms,” I finally say. I observe her, trying to see whether I’ve hurt her.

“Yes, but they’re not a hundred percent reliable.”

“But that’s always due to human error. I mean, I went to Carey’s room to get new ones.”

I can hear Carey laughing, and I turn to see him standing near the door. I hadn’t even noticed him in the room.

“Fuck, man!” he laughs. “I’d taken some from you. How lucky is that?” And he looks like he actually means it.

Swallowing, I look back at Mac. “What… What’s her name?”

“Ask her,” Mac says, her eyes shining.

I look at her, my little girl. “What’s your name?”

“Hazel,” she says with a slight lisp. “Your name?”

“Hunter.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling so sweetly it tugs at my heart.

“Hi,” I say.

Mac comes over to us and kneels beside my wheelchair. “Sweetie, Hunter is your daddy.”

As she hears these words, Hazel’s eyes widen, and she gives me an adoring look. I’m not sure how I deserve this look, but it rattles every fiber of my being.

“Daddy?” she asks, sounding surprised. She looks at her mom for more confirmation.

Mac nods. “Yes, your daddy.”

Hazel looks at me again. “You daddy? Hazel say daddy?” Hearing her say that word, asking me whether she can call me that, thaws the ice inside me. I can feel the chains I’ve wrapped around my heart loosen. I can feel the mortar crumble in the walls I’ve built.

“If you want,” I say hoarsely, trying not to cry.

A single tear gets through despite my best efforts, and Hazel touches it with her finger. “Daddy.”

Maybe it’s stupid to just believe Mac after I’ve been under the impression her child was my half sister all this time. But it feels like what she’s saying is true. This feels right.

I only remember Carey’s in the room when he kneels down on my other side. He smiles at me and nudges Hazel’s cheek, making her laugh. That laugh—God—that laugh kills me.

“What Daddy doing?” Hazel asks, running her tiny fingers across my beard.

My emotions are disabling the language center of my brain, or my vocal cords, or something, because I can’t say a thing.

“Hunter is here for therapy,” Mac answers for me.

“Why?” Hazel asks, sounding curious.

“Because he was injured.”

“Where?”

“On his leg.”

Hazel looks at my legs until she spots my prosthetic. She frowns, and I hold my breath. I can’t imagine how I will keep living now if she’s horrified by what she sees.

She changes position, leaning her back against me. My hands are on her belly, and I can’t imagine a better feeling than having her on my lap. It’s weird how much love can develop within a single second.

She touches the attachment socket, lightly knocking against it. She runs her fingers along the edges, then across the part of my leg covered with a stocking. I lift my leg, so she can see the mechanical part clearly. She stares at it for a second before she snuggles up to me and says, “Daddy, Hazel waited.”

“Waited?” I repeat, proud of myself for being able to say something. “For what?”

“Daddy.”

Mac leans her head against my arm as she sobs quietly. Carey’s look is so emotional I can’t even look at him or I’ll start crying, too.

Apparently oblivious to how the adults are reacting, Hazel takes off her shoes. “Bue tithes,” she says and lifts her legs like I did just a moment ago. She’s wearing blue tights. “Daddy back tithes.” I look at my leg. She’s right.

I only realize now that it’s completely quiet around us. The woman who tried to prevent Mac from coming into the room in the first place is watching us, her eyes moist, and my physical therapist doesn’t exactly look like this is leaving him cold, either.

I don’t know what to do. Helplessly, I look around. My eyes land on Mac, who immediately steps in to help me out. “Sweetie,” she says, reaching for Hazel, “why don’t we go for some ice cream and let Hunter finish his therapy?”

She shakes her head. “Daddy ice tream, too.”

“But he needs to finish his training, sweetie. We can come see him again after.” She gives me a questioning look.

I shrug and mumble, “Suicide watch.” I’m so embarrassed I have to say those words I can’t even look at her.

She squeezes my arm and then helps Hazel off my lap. My daughter turns around, smiles at me, and says: “Bye, daddy.”

“Bye, Hazel,” I say quietly.

Mac kisses me on the cheek, and Carey squeezes my shoulder. I put my hand on his.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” I murmur, still completely stunned by what just happened, “but for now…just…thank you. Thank you for watching my daughter for me.”

He nods. “Any time, bro. Any time!”