I never told my son-in-law that I was the most feared Drill Sergeant in Marine history.

I watched from the porch as he put his PlayStation into his car and drove away, his hands shaking so hard he could barely steer. He didn’t look back. He knew that if he did, he might see the ghost of the Master Sergeant waiting in the shadows.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Sarah: Is it over?

I took a deep breath, the “Grandpa” mask sliding back into place, though it felt a little tighter than before. I looked at my hands—steady, weathered, and still capable of holding the line.

“It’s over, Sarah,” I whispered to the empty street. “The perimeter is secure.”

I walked back inside, picked up my crossword puzzle, and sat down in the quiet house. I had a lot of making up to do to my daughter, but for the first time in a long time, the air in the house felt clean.