I kept cooking and said very little.
Then I noticed she had moved toward my bag, which I had left on a chair near the table.
I turned just in time to see her pull out a small velvet case.
My chest went cold.
“Put that back,” I said, stepping toward her.
She ignored me and opened it. The afternoon sun caught the medal inside and sent a flash of silver across the yard. The conversation around us quieted.
“Where did she get this?” someone murmured nearby.
Lisa looked at the medal with a smirk that told me she had already composed her answer. “She probably bought it somewhere. There is no way she actually earned something like this.”
I reached out my hand. “Give it back to me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You really expect anyone here to believe your stories? You cannot even handle the sound of fireworks without flinching.”
I kept my voice steady. “That medal does not represent me. It represents people who gave everything and did not come home. Please give it back.”
“It represents a lie,” she said.
And before I could step forward to stop her, she dropped it into the grill.
The ribbon caught the heat first, curling into a thin thread of smoke. The silver star itself sank slowly into the glowing coals.
Nobody in the yard made a sound.
Then a small voice broke through the silence.
“No!”
Eli had jumped up from his chair. His coloring book fell to the ground.
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