Ten years after my family disowned me for choosing a career as an Army physician, I returned home for my grandfather’s funeral.

My father immediately noticed him.

Reed looked past Arthur, Julian, and the gathered contractors.

Then he walked directly toward me.

When he reached me, he raised his hand in a formal salute.

I returned it automatically.

“Colonel Vance,” he said. “It is an honour to see you again.”

Julian’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

Reed shook my hand.

“The men from Kandahar still ask about you.”

The room went silent.

Two years earlier, Reed had arrived at my field hospital with a severe leg injury. I had performed the vascular repair that saved both his life and his ability to walk.