After everything — coming home early and seeing her holding our son — I found myself writing again. It’s strange how some habits never fade. During deployment, I used to write to her every night before lights out. No matter how tired I was, those letters reminded me what I was fighting for — what truly mattered. But this time, the letter wasn’t for her. It was for me. One quiet night, after she and the baby had fallen asleep, I sat at the same kitchen table we bought before I left, and began to

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