No Regrets, No Return

I stitched a man's leg back together on a dirt road outside Kandahar. I told another he was the only thing I ever got right. I stopped talking to the third because he asked me to save him and I couldn't. Two years later, all three of them walk into the VFW hall like nothing happened. Kellan, still limping. Ari, still smiling. Tobias, still not looking at me. I came home to be done. They came home on leave, and they left something behind in me that I've been trying to bury. When the unit gets called up early, I get six weeks to decide whether to go back, stay, or build something else entirely. I've made my choice before, once, on a bad day. This time it's mine, on purpose. The clinic needs a name. So does the rest of my life.