Aaron flipped on the television, not because he wanted to watch it — but because silence felt worse.
Wolf News filled the screen.
Footage rolled:
● Russian armored divisions moving through snow.
● Chinese missile test clips.
● A scrolling ticker: Strategic alliance discussions continue.
● A panel arguing over “containment strategy.”
The volume was low. John leaned back in the recliner, arms folded, steady as always.
“They’ve been threatening each other for years,” Aaron muttered. “This just feels different.”
John didn’t answer right away.
The anchor said: “Unnamed Pentagon sources suggest elevated readiness levels…”
Aaron muted the TV.
“You see that?” he said. “Elevated readiness. That’s code.”
John shrugged lightly. “It’s always code.”
Aaron shook his head. “No. Not like this. They’re moving pieces.”
Jessica sat on the couch, watching the two men more than the television.
“You both sound like you’re already packing bags,” she hissed.
John looked at her. “If something happens, it happens.”
“That’s not comforting,” she replied.
Aaron leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You think they’d call you back?”
John met his eyes calmly. “If they need me.”
Aaron swallowed. “We just buried Brandon last year.”
Silence fell. John’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t break.
“That’s part of it,” he said quietly. “We knew what we signed up for.”
Aaron exhaled sharply. “I didn’t sign up.”
John gave a faint smile. “You benefit from those who did.”
Aaron almost snapped back — but stopped.
Nita, from the kitchen doorway, crossed her arms. “Can’t they send someone else?”
John looked at her kindly. “They don’t send someone else when it’s your job.”
Jessica reached for his hand.
“And we’re proud of you,” she said.
Aaron scoffed lightly. “Pride doesn’t stop bullets.”
John turned to him fully now.
“No. But panic doesn’t either.”
The room held that sentence for a moment. Aaron looked away first.
“Forget it,” he muttered. “Let’s play something.”
John stood, grabbed the controller, tossed one to Aaron. For a few minutes, the room filled with artificial gunfire and trash talk. But between rounds, the news ticker kept scrolling silently.Jessica noticed John glance at it more than once. He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to.
Later that night, after the laughter died down and the house settled into quiet, John moved through the hallway. He paused at each child’s doorway. Hand on the frame.
Silent prayer. Not long. Not dramatic. Just steady.
In the bedroom, Jessica watched him.
“You’re thinking,” she said.
“Always.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s not what I meant.”
He sat beside her.
“We’re good parents, right?”
She reached for him. “Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
For a moment, he looked tired. Not physically. Spiritually.
They lay down. The television glowed faintly in the corner.Somewhere, a news anchor was still talking.
Aaron
Morning came too bright. Nita walked the boys to the bus like always. Aaron stood at the window with his coffee, watching out of habit. Across the street, the neighbor stood in her yard. Still.Not gardening. Not checking mail. Just watching.
Nita waved politely. The woman didn’t wave back. Instead, she smiled — slow and strange. Aaron felt something tighten in his chest.
The boys climbed onto the bus. Nita lingered a second too long before walking back. When she stepped inside, Aaron didn’t turn from the window.
“What’d she say?”
Nita paused. “Who?”
“The neighbor.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
Aaron turned slowly. “You were talking.”
“She just said…” Nita hesitated.
Aaron’s voice hardened. “What.”
“She said times are changing. And that we should be ready.”
Silence.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s enough.”
Aaron walked to the window again. The neighbor was gone now. Curtains closed. Car still in the driveway. He stepped outside. Crossed halfway into the street.
Nothing moved.
He scanned the house. Windows. Roofline. It felt ridiculous.And it didn’t. He went back inside.
“Lock the back door during the day,” he said.
“I always do.”
“Check it again.”
Nita studied him.
“You’re spiraling.”
“No, I’m paying attention.”
“To what?”
Aaron struggled to answer. He didn’t know. That was the problem.
“I just don’t like the timing,” he said finally.
“Of what?”
He gestured vaguely. “All of it.”
Nita stepped closer.
“We can’t live like something’s about to happen.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened.
“That’s exactly how you live when something’s about to happen.”
She stared at him.
“You sound like you want it to.”
He didn’t respond. That hit somewhere. He grabbed his keys.
“I’ll drive by after work.”
“Drive by what?”
“The house.”
“You mean spy on her?”
“Call it whatever you want.”
He kissed her forehead — quick, distracted.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
As he backed out of the driveway, he slowed in front of the neighbor’s house. The curtains shifted. Just slightly. Aaron didn’t blink. Someone was inside. Watching back.
He drove on — but the calm in him was gone. And once Aaron lost calm, he didn’t drift back to it. He prepared.