The paper shook in his grip.

“He told us you forgot about us,” my father said.

“He said you were ashamed of your civilian parents.”

“He made us believe you thought you were better than us because of your rank.”

I looked at my mother, whose head was bowed, her shoulders shaking silently.

“I sent flowers for your anniversary every year, Mother,” I said.

“The receipts are on page fourteen.”

“They were delivered to Andrew’s office address on post, because he said he would bring them to you.”

“He told me you threw them in the trash because you didn’t want anything from me.”

My mother looked up, her face pale and drawn under the fluorescent lights.

“I never saw a single flower, Emily,” she said.

“Not one.”

She turned her head slowly toward Andrew, who remained silent by the window, his gaze fixed on the parade field outside.

“How could you do this to us?” my mother asked him.

“We treated you like a son.”

Andrew did not answer.

He kept his back to the room, his shoulders tense beneath his service uniform.