That night, back in our hotel room, I turned on my phone and watched the messages flood in—seventy-nine missed calls, endless texts, voicemails piling up.
My mother: “Elena, we saw the news. We had no idea. Please call us.”
My father: “This is unacceptable. You should have told us who he was.”
Lydia: “You got married to a Pentagon general and didn’t continue reading …
