The veterans hall smelled faintly of coffee and old varnish — the kind of scent that clings to places built for memory. Rows of folding chairs faced a small stage draped in flags. The crowd was polite, murmuring, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Clare stood near the back, hands clasped behind her, posture instinctively straight. Her uniform — pressed, immaculate, understated — …
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
