When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Thirty-Two — Standard Procedure

Matthews’s office was too neat. Too quiet. The kind of room that made every sound a confession.

Emily stepped in and instantly knew something was wrong. The blinds were half-drawn, the sunlight cut into stripes across his desk, and the folder in front of him bore her name in black marker.

He gestured to the chair opposite. “Emily. Sit.”

Her pulse quickened. She obeyed, but tension hummed in her shoulders.

Matthews folded his hands, then unfolded them again, as if searching for words. “I’m going to be direct. Command is requiring you to see a psychologist. Until you receive a clean bill of health, you’re suspended from active duty.”

The words slammed into her like a blunt weapon. She gripped the armrests and then shot to her feet.

“Suspended?” Her voice cracked. “For what? For holding it together? For doing the job you people assigned me? You know how many shifts I’ve pulled since—” She cut herself off, jaw tightening. “This is insane.”

“Emily,” Matthews said evenly, raising a hand. “Sit.”

“No!” she snapped. “You can’t sideline me because I’m a widow. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You all see a fragile woman with a tragic story, and suddenly I’m a liability. If I were a man, you wouldn’t—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, sharper now. Not unkind, but firm enough to cut through her fury. His eyes met hers, steady, not wavering. “This isn’t me. This isn’t my choice.”

Her breath came fast, chest heaving. “Then fight it. You outrank them here. You know I’m stable. You know I’m fine.”

Matthews leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I know. But higher command doesn’t care what I know. They care what the paperwork says. They care about optics.” He tapped the folder with two fingers. “Widow. Lost a child. Still working with a scalpel every day. To them, that screams risk. And they want to eliminate risk.”

Emily’s hands trembled. She forced them into fists. “So what? You’ll just let them bench me? You’ll let them strip me of the one thing keeping me standing?”

His jaw tightened. For a moment, silence stretched. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice until it softened into something almost paternal.

“Do you think I don’t see you? Do you think I don’t know what this place means to you? Emily… I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve watched soldiers c***k for less than what you’ve carried. I believe you’re stronger than they give you credit for. But belief isn’t enough. My hands—” he opened them, palms up, empty—“are tied.”

Her throat ached. She shook her head, refusing to accept it. “Then untie them. Do something. Don’t just let them bury me under paperwork.”

The faintest flicker of grief crossed his face. “If I fight them, they’ll dig deeper. They’ll paint you unstable whether you are or not. If you resist, Emily, you’ll give them the excuse they’re hunting for. If you play along, it passes. A checkmark, nothing more. Then you come back. That’s the only way I can protect you.”

She bit her lip until she tasted iron. Her voice cracked. “So my only choice is to prove I’m not broken, while everyone assumes I am?”

“Yes.” His reply was quiet, steady. “That’s exactly it. It’s not fair. But it’s survival. You’ve seen enough to know fairness is a luxury.”

Emily lowered herself back into the chair, her body suddenly heavy. She stared at the edge of the desk, fingers twitching.

“I don’t need a shrink,” she whispered.

“I know,” Matthews said. “But you need to make them believe you do—and that it worked.”

Her eyes lifted, glistening with unshed tears, but her voice was steel. “You’re asking me to play weak so they’ll let me be strong.”

He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

Silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating. Finally, she gave the smallest nod. “Fine.”

Matthews exhaled slowly, relief tinged with sorrow. He closed the folder and set it aside.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then he asked, “How are Daniel’s parents?”

Emily blinked at the shift. “They’re… better than me, I suppose. They’re lucky. They still have their daughter, the grandkids. It keeps them busy. Keeps them breathing.”

He sighed, leaning back. “Good. I’ll be glad if you find that too, Emily. A reason to keep breathing beyond the uniform. You deserve it.”

Something in his tone—less colonel, more father—slipped past her guard. And in that instant, her mind betrayed her. She saw not Daniel’s grave, not the flag folded in her lap, but a pier, the sharp scent of aftershave, the unexpected heat of a kiss.

Reeves.

Her heart stuttered. Shame followed quick. But the memory stayed.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, forcing herself back into the moment.

Matthews gave a faint, weary smile and dismissed her with a nod.