I unfolded the small piece of paper with shaking hands.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

My grandfather’s.

Evie,

If you are reading this, it means I was too late to say these things myself.

For a moment, the noise from inside disappeared. The rain, the cars leaving the parking lot, the conversations behind the doors—all of it faded.

My grandfather had always been the strongest person I knew. General Arthur Monroe was the man who commanded rooms without raising his voice. The man my father spent his entire life trying to impress.

But on that tiny piece of paper, he wasn’t a general.

He was just my grandfather.

Whitmore watched silently as I read.

“He wanted to tell you himself,” he finally said. “But his health declined faster than anyone expected.”

I folded the note carefully.

“What did he know?” I asked.

Whitmore looked toward the building where my family was still celebrating.

“He knew you were treated unfairly.”

I laughed quietly.

“That’s a gentle way to put it.”

Whitmore didn’t smile.

“Your grandfather was proud of you from the beginning.”

I looked down at my uniform….