Vanessa would eventually figure out a solution—she always did. Whether through our parents stepping in or her fiancé coming to the rescue, the wedding would happen. But it would no longer be my problem.

I passed by the historic Charleston storefronts, the sun glinting off the ocean far down the street, and pulled my phone out again.

Scrolling through my contacts, I found my commanding officer’s number. I needed to return to the people who valued me not for the money I could provide, but for the strength and dedication I brought to my work.

With a deep breath, I dialed the number, the phone ringing as I continued down the street. The call connected, and I heard the familiar voice on the other end.