Tears were coming down in buckets down my face, just when I thought that maybe I'd ran out of any to shed. He wrote this when I was taken by Church, and he felt this way all the way back then. I clutch my throat as it swells at the tears that wouldn't end.

Underneath the letter were the bank account details, with card access and a personal check book in my name. It said Ross, so he must've edited his will since I changed my name. And underneath that we're his dog tags. I picked them up, looking at them fondly. I would ask the team of course if they wanted to hang them, but for now I put them around my neck. I pause when I get to the last item.

It was a photo, an old photo, of Barney and my mother. And in his arms was a small baby, smiling widely with bright green eyes. I gasp. I turn the photo over and a hand flies to my mouth.

To Barney,

With love,

Sabrina

I set the photo back in the box, and re-read the letter. I know he wanted me to move on quicker than I have… but he wasn't here to deal with the pain of his absence. And what upset me more was that he died thinking he wasn't the kind of father I wanted. He couldn't be more wrong.

But it wasn't the father figure I was lacking, I managed my whole life without one. No... I lost my best friend.

Two months earlier...

Pain radiates from every pore of my body. Even the hair on my head ached. I groan.

I must be dead. This must be what hell feels like. But if that were true, hell was for pussies. I open my eyes, and see that I'm in some kind of hut. I'm covered in blood, mud, and ash. My right leg has a bone sticking out of it, I have shrapnel wounds covering every inch of my skin.

I wasn't dead. By some miracle, I could get out of this.

I sit up, looking around at some kind of medical tent. A small framed, older Aruban women walks into the tent wearing a nurses outfit. She addresses me in the local tongue, Papiamento. I can't understand her.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, and she waves her hands in the air, frustrated. She kneels down beside me, and I realize by the ash and blood on her hands that she must've pulled me from the wreckage somehow. I look at her and make eye contact. "Thank you."

She must understand me, because she nods smiling. She gestures to my leg, and clamps her teeth down on her hand. She's signaling this was going to hurt. A man comes in after her, holding manmade surgical tools. I tense, realize they were about to fix my leg with me fully conscious.

It was days later and I still couldn't stand. But the bone was mended and fixed, the doctor knew what he was doing. I'll never forget the excruciating pain that accompanied open knee surgery.

But I was determined to make a fast recovery. I had an urgency to get home or make contact with anyone back home soon, and it was no doubt that Brenna already thought I was dead. Who knows how long I'd even been out here. But in the split second before I thought I was going to die, my thoughts were of her and Sabrina. And how I just wanted to apologize and start over. And more than anything, I wanted to see my daughter's face.

Stay strong, Bren. I'll be home soon.