I placed the folder on the seat beside me.

The driver closed the door and got into the front seat.

The engine hummed as we pulled away from the officers’ club.

I looked out the window at the gray ships docked along the piers.

Their massive hulls loomed out of the fog, lit by amber floodlights.

For years, I had felt like a ghost among these ships.

Now, the weight of the lie was gone.

My name was clean.

My father was safe.

The family home was secure.

The car drove past the main gate of Naval Station Norfolk.

The guard at the gate saluted as the sedan passed.

We turned onto the highway, heading north toward Washington.

The headlights cut through the dark, wet asphalt ahead.

I leaned my head back against the headrest.

The silence in the car was different now.

It was no longer the silence of isolation.

It was the silence of a soldier preparing for the next mission.

I closed my eyes and let the steady hum of the road carry me forward.