I took my son to visit my husband, the commander, but the guard blocked us at the gate and said, “His girlfriend is inside the unit. No visitors!” I covered my son’s ears, called my second brother, and

watched him through the security cameras. He stood beneath the lobby lights wearing a navy jacket, unshaven and furious, attempting to look betrayed. The concierge, an ex-Marine named Powell, remained behind the desk with calm professionalism.

Andrew called.

This time she answered.

“I am downstairs,” he said.

“I know.”

“Come down.”

“No.”

“Olivia, I am still continue reading …