“Kevin, shut up,” my father whispered. His voice was trembling.
“What?” Kevin said, oblivious. “Look at her! It’s stolen valor, right, Dad? Tell her to take it off before she gets arrested.”
I stopped ten feet away from them. I stood at the position of attention. Not the rigid, scared attention of a recruit, but the relaxed, dangerous attention of a commander. I looked my father in the eye.
“You told me to change, Colonel,” I said. My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried to every corner of the silent room. “You said my dress was inappropriate for a military function. I corrected the deficiency.”
My mother pushed through the crowd, her face twisted in indignation. “Elena, have you lost your mind?” she hissed. “Take that off this instant. You are making a mockery of your father’s service.”
“Actually, ma’am,” a deep voice boomed from the entrance behind me. “She is the only one here honoring it.”
The crowd turned as one. Standing at the doorway was General Marcus Sterling, the four-star, the guest of honor. He was flanked by two Military Police officers and his aide.
General Sterling was a giant of a man, a legend in the Armored Divisions, with a face carved from granite. My father’s face went from pale to gray. He looked at General Sterling, then back at
