When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Thirty – Between Graves

The cemetery lay under a thin veil of autumn gray, the air sharp with the smell of damp earth. Emily stood before Daniel’s grave, her arms crossed against the chill, eyes fixed on the marble slab as though staring long enough might rewrite what was carved into it.

The flowers she had placed two weeks ago had begun to curl at the edges, their colors muted. Time did not stop here—it only reminded her that it never would.

Sofia stood quietly beside her, the crunch of leaves under her heels the only sound she made for a long while. At last, she drew in a breath, her voice soft but firm.

“Emily… you can’t keep circling this place like a moth to a lamp. He’s gone. The best way to carry him is to keep walking forward.”

Emily’s lips parted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. “Walking forward… with what? A shadow?”

Her eyes lingered on the gravestone. The name etched there glared back at her, final, unchanging. The words pressed against her ribs until they broke free.

“You know what’s strange?” Her voice trembled—not with grief, but with clarity. “I’ve cried, I’ve raged, I’ve sat up nights waiting for some… explosion inside me. The kind of pain they write about in books. But it never came.”

Sofia frowned. “You loved him, Emily.”

“I cared for him,” Emily corrected, shaking her head. “There’s a difference. Daniel and I—we were partners. Friends, maybe. But love? Love burns, doesn’t it? It moves you, shakes you. With him, it was all… simple. Quiet. Even our fights—they weren’t storms. They were sighs. Raised voices, then silence. No sparks, no flames. Just routine.”

She tightened her arms across her chest, bracing herself. “We didn’t even fight like people who wanted to win. We argued because it was expected. Because marriage isn’t perfect. That’s what people say, isn’t it? That couples fight. But with us…” She exhaled, long and slow. “It was almost polite. Even the anger.”

Sofia tilted her head, watching her. “So what are you saying? That you never loved him?”

Emily’s throat worked as she searched for the truth. “I don’t know. Maybe I did. Maybe in my way. But it wasn’t that consuming love. It wasn’t fire. It was… companionship. Comfortable. Predictable.” Her voice lowered. “When he died, it shocked me. It broke something. But not because I lost my other half. I never had one.”

The admission hung in the cold air, heavier than the headstones around them.

Sofia let it breathe before she spoke. “Emily, grief isn’t measured by how fiery your marriage was. You lost someone who mattered. That’s enough.”

Emily’s gaze hardened on the grave. “I think I’m grieving what could have been. Not what was. I’m grieving the idea of us. The life I thought we’d eventually find. But the truth?” Her voice thinned into a whisper. “We were already drifting apart. Deployment after deployment… the distance became normal. When he came home, it felt like an intrusion into the life I’d built alone. We argued about dishes, about schedules, about nothing. And I kept waiting for the moment I’d miss him when he left again. I never did.”

Her eyes burned, but not with tears. “So when they told me he was gone… it was shock. Pain, yes. But not the kind of loss where you can’t breathe without the person. Not like that.”

Sofia reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Then maybe that’s why you feel guilty. Because the world expects you to collapse. But you’re stronger. You’re honest. That doesn’t make you cruel, Em. That makes you real.”

Emily’s hand tightened back, grateful and ashamed all at once.

From across the cemetery, a volley of rifles split the air, startling a flock of crows from the trees. Both women turned. Another funeral was unfolding—a flag-draped coffin lowered into the earth, soldiers saluting.

Sofia’s eyes widened. “I didn’t realize… another service would be today.”

Emily’s chest tightened, unease prickling her skin. The name Reeves had sent her just last night crawled into her mind. Ortiz.

And then, as though summoned by her dread, a voice slid into the space behind them, oily and cold.

“Well, isn’t this something.”

Emily stiffened. She turned slowly, already bracing for the sneer she knew too well. Agent Harris stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his expression painted with false sympathy that never touched his eyes.

“How are you holding up, Mrs. Clarke?” he asked, mock concern dripping from every syllable.

Emily’s reply was clipped, her tone colder than the wind. “Fine.”

Harris tilted his head, studying her. “You don’t think it’s an odd coincidence? You, here at your husband’s grave… the very same day Ortiz is being buried?”

Emily blinked, heart thudding. “Ortiz?” The name left her lips before she could stop it.

His smile curved, sharp and smug. “Yes. Ortiz. Funny, isn’t it? You ask the wrong nurse a few questions, and suddenly one of those patients winds up dead. You might not show on camera, but…” he tapped his temple, “…I can smell when it’s you meddling where you don’t belong.”

Sofia’s face flushed with fury. She stepped forward, her heels striking the gravel like weapons. “How dare you?” she snapped. “At her husband’s grave, you come spitting your little accusations? I didn’t know NCIS had sunk so low.”

Harris raised his brows in mock innocence, then smirked and turned away. “Just remember—curiosity has a cost.” His boots crunched the path as he left, his shadow trailing like poison.

Emily’s throat felt tight, but before she could speak, Sofia turned back, her eyes blazing.

“I don’t care if it’s coincidence or not,” she hissed. “But if that man dares to show his face like this again, I swear I’ll put the heel of my shoe straight into his skull.”

Emily almost smiled through the knot in her chest. For the first time that day, warmth touched her grief.