I stood in front of the door, hesitating, duffel bag in one hand, my other hand hovering over the doorbell.

It was the day before the funeral, and visitation was taking place at my parents’ home. I’d been invited by mom to take part, and she’d even said they would give me back my room for three or four days, but I’d decided to only attend the visitation and funeral, then leave right away.

I was only doing this for Mark; he at the very least deserved that I be there to say goodbye when he would be buried.

I sighed, and rang the doorbell; after a minute the door opened, revealing my aunt – my mother’s sister.

“Yes, may I help you?” she asked.

“Hello, aunt Millie,” I mumbled in response.

She looked at me for a few moments, a puzzled expression on her face, then her eyes widened. “Jack?” she exclaimed in surprise.

I cringed at the sound of my old name. “Stephanie,” I replied.

Aunt Millie blinked at me, then said, “Well this is a surprise.” She stared at me in disbelief, and I couldn’t blame her; the last time I’d seen her had been more than a year earlier, about a month before I’d come out to my parents, and I’d changed a bit since then – my hair was longer, of course, and the hormones I’d started taking shortly after being thrown out by mom and dad had modified my face a bit and gave me some curves, but I still was recognisable, and I didn’t pass more often than not. The biggest change, however, was my clothes: at the moment I was wearing a conservative long-sleeved dress that reached below my knees, tights, and low heeled shoes. I’d borrowed everything from a friend, explaining what I needed it for, and she gracefully helped me find what I needed in her wardrobe – mine was very limited, owing to my money problems. I was even wearing make-up, just a little bit: it was noticeable, but not garish.

I gave my aunt a weak smile. “Yeah, I bet.”

She was still staring, wide-eyed, and she shook her head. “Sorry, where are my manners? Come in.”

I nodded, and followed her inside, dropping my bag just inside the door. “You know,” she continued, as she started towards the living room, “we didn’t think you would show. After all you ran away and cut off all contact a year ago. How did you hear about Mark anyway?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “I did what?”

“Seriously, Ja-- Stephanie,” she said, “What were you thinking? Just up and disappearing one day, without saying anything, without even leaving a note saying where you were going? Now, I understand why you did it,” she motioned at me, “But you could’ve at least told your parents.”

My eyes narrowed as I looked at her. “They didn’t tell you,” I said.

She looked at me, a puzzled expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

“They didn’t tell you they threw me out of the house when I came out to them, am I right?” I asked. “They knew where I was all along, but mom just barely attempted to talk to me over the past year. And dad not even that. But they didn’t tell you that.”

Aunt Millie’s expression turned to horror as she realised what had happened. “Stephanie…” she began to say, but I rushed past her, marching to the living room.

My father was sitting in his favourite armchair, dressed in his old air force uniform; there were several people surrounding him, some of which I knew – family, mostly – but most were wearing uniforms, too, and I’d never seen them before. They were talking in hushed tones, but stopped when I strode across the room and planted myself in front of dad. He looked up at me in surprise.

“Hello, dad,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

As he recognised me, his expression turned from surprise into a different emotion: hate. “What the hell are you doing here?” he hissed.

“What, is that all the greeting I get?” I asked, in a mocking tone of voice. “After not seeing your daughter for a whole year, after not even bothering to call her, you’re not even going to say hi?”

He stared at me, his gaze not even wavering. “You’re no child of mine,” he spat. “How did you even hear about this in the first place?”

I blinked. “What do you mean? Mom called me; she told me you wanted me back home, at least for the funeral.”

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Helen!” he shouted.

I heard a click of heels in the corridor that led to the kitchen and dining room, and mom appeared through the door. “George?” she asked “What…”

She stopped speaking when she saw me standing there.

“Didn’t I expressly forbid you to tell him about Mark’s death?” my father demanded.

“Her,” I said quietly, which earned me a glare from him.

Mom hesitated. “You did, George, but… It’s Jack. Mark was his brother.”

“Stephanie, and again, it’s her,” I said. “I’m standing right here, the least you could do is use my correct pronouns and name. After all, I’ve had it officially changed three months ago.”

“Shut up!” my father bellowed. “After what you did, you have the guts to come here, you freak? Get out of my house right now! And I don’t want to see you at the funeral!”

“Well then, it’s too bad that the funeral is public, isn’t it?” I spat back. “After all, a serviceman who died heroically in the line of action is going to receive a service with military honours. And I expect you to not say anything about it. It would really be a shame if someone were to make a scene, right?”

“Shut the fuck up, you bastard!” my father said, grabbing his cane and starting to rise from the armchair. “I won’t stand for this!”

I slapped him hard, squarely on the face, throwing him back down in the chair.

“It’s been years since you were able to stand. And it’s not bastard, it’s bitch. Get it right.”

I looked around the room: everyone was staring at me, bewildered expressions on their faces.

“I can see when I’m not welcome, however,” I continued, “So I will take my leave. See you tomorrow.”

I turned on my heel, made my way back to the entrance, picked up my duffel bag, and walked outside, slamming the door behind me and not even bothering to turn back.

Without me even noticing my feet started walking, and then running; my vision clouded, but my legs remembered the neighbourhood – I’d lived there all my life – and led me to my favourite park, where I collapsed on a bench, and started sobbing.

I was there for what felt like hours, just crying my heart out; I was brought back to reality when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and saw aunt Millie, a kind smile on her face. She sat down beside me, and gave me a half hug, without speaking.

I sniffled. “That could’ve gone better.”

She nodded. “It could have. But then again, maybe not, knowing how my brother-in-law is. I still don’t know why my sister doesn’t leave him.”

She tightened the hug. “I’m really sorry, Stephanie. If I’d known what you were going through…”

I shook my head. “No, don’t blame yourself, auntie,” I replied. “After all, there was no way you could’ve known.”

We were quiet for a while, then she spoke up. “How long will you be in town?” she asked.

“Just… Today and tomorrow,” I replied, drying my eyes with a tissue. “I was planning to go back the day after the funeral, I already have the plane ticket.”

“Plane?” she seemed surprised. “Where are you living now?”

“Boston,” I answered. “I go to college there.”

“That’s… Quite a ways from here,” she commented.

“It is, but it’s the only place I could find that would give me financial aid. And then I go and blow two month’s budget on a plane ticket.” I took a deep breath. “If it weren’t for Mark, I wouldn’t even have bothered to come. It would’ve been for the best really.”

My aunt nodded again. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“I don’t. I was counting on my parents giving me my old room back, mom said they would, but now…”

“Alright,” she said, standing up and offering me her hand. “I’m afraid there’s really nothing I can do about your dumb idiot father. But on the other hand, I do have a spare room at my house, and you’re welcome to it if you want it.”

I stood up and hugged her. “Thanks, aunt Millie.”

She reciprocated the hug, and patted my back a few times. “You’re welcome, dear niece.”

We broke the hug, and walked together to the exit to the park. “Wait here, I’ll bring the car around,” she said. I nodded, and she was off.

I just stood there while I waited for her. So many feelings, so many memories, were in this neighbourhood. Most of them good, but not all of them. I looked around and placed my hand on a tree, the one Mark had climbed when we were five – he’d fallen out of it and broke his arm. I’d been severely reprimanded: as the older brother, it was my duty to take care of him, to keep him away from danger.

As my aunt stopped the car in the street behind me I gulped, realising I would probably never see this park again, since I had no intention of coming back home ever again.

But that couldn’t be helped, could it now? I’d made my choice – no, my parents had made their choice, I mentally corrected myself – and all of us would have to live with it.

Sighing, I opened the passenger’s door of aunt Millie’s car and got in.

She drove in silence for a while, and I looked out of the window, seeing the neighbourhood pass by. I was so lost in thought, I didn’t realise we weren’t headed to my aunt’s house until we missed the third turn.

“Aunt Millie? Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my house,” she replied.

“Isn’t your house in the opposite direction?”

She smiled a sad smile. “No, I’ve moved since we last saw each other. My home was foreclosed about eight months ago.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Foreclosed?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I used it as collateral for a loan, which I had to default on, so the bank got it.”

I was stunned. “But it was grandpa and grandma's house! You’d lived there all your life! Couldn’t you have asked mom? My parents are comfortably well-off. I’m sure--”

“Your father refused. He said I would have to figure it out on my own.”

“But… Why?”

She chuckled. “I’m actually not welcome in their house any more, either. My presence was barely tolerated today because of Mark, but I fully expect them to go back to not speaking to me once the funeral is done with. We’re here.” She stopped in the street in front of a modest-looking house: two floors, ground floor and first floor, and a bit of lawn in front of it. Not terrible, but a far cry from the big house she’d lived in the last time I’d seen her.

“But why would he do that?” I asked again, as I followed her to the front door, which she opened with a key.

“I’m home! Isabela, mi amor, where are you? We have a guest!” she called.

“Isabela?” I wondered aloud.

I heard footsteps above us, and then a hispanic-looking woman with short hair descended the stairs; she looked like she was about my aunt’s age.

“Oh, welcome back!” she said, walking to Millie’s side and giving her a peck on the lips. “Who is this?”

“Honey, this is my niece Stephanie. Stephanie, this is Isabela. My wife, and the reason I don’t speak to your parents that often any more.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isabela said, extending a hand towards me – but I was too stunned to shake it. I stared at the two of them wide-eyed, my mouth hanging open.

“You’re… You’re a lesbian?”

“I’m bi, actually,” my aunt corrected me with a smirk. “But I think that’s beside the point. I’d just started dating her when you… Disappeared.”

Well, that would explain why my father didn’t want anything to do with aunt Millie under normal circumstances, wouldn’t it.

I shook my head to clear it. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m a bit surprised. Stephanie,” I said, shaking Isabela’s hand.

“Well, now that introductions are out of the way, what do you say we head to dinner? It’s almost seven, and I’m famished,” Millie said.

As we ate, my aunt and I explained the situation to Isabela. Her expression turned dark when we talked about my mom and dad – she obviously had a very poor opinion of them, not that I could blame her. And she had some choice words to say when Millie told her what exactly had happened that caused my “disappearance” and subsequent absence of a whole year, I learned lots of creative swears in Spanish that evening. But in the end, it was all good: at least we bonded over how horrible my parents were. And we made plans for the following day; Isabela hadn’t been invited to the funeral – because of course she hadn't – though she still planned to attend, watching from afar. My aunt, however, would be sitting right next to her sister, as a show of moral support. And that was perfect.

The next morning we drove to the funeral, and parked as far away as we could; we didn’t want my parents or other family to see us, as that would risk giving away the whole thing. I stood some distance away from the grave with Isabela, while Millie went to greet my parents and sat down as people took their seats.

The casket arrived, on a carriage drawn by a horse; as the daughter of an officer, I’d seen my share of military funerals, so I knew this was usual. What wasn’t usual were the pallbearers: just four of them instead of the usual number, and two were women. Weird. I guess they were my brother’s closest friends, though I couldn’t imagine why such a seemingly rag-tag group would come together.

When the coffin stopped over the grave, that’s when we made our move. It wasn’t anything elaborate; my aunt got up from her seat and walked to the back, where Isabela and I stood, while I strode forward and sat in the spot she’d just vacated.

“Hello, mother,” I whispered. “Father.”

I looked straight ahead, not acknowledging them besides that greeting, but out of the corner of my eye I could see they were glaring daggers at me, my dad especially; however, they refrained from making a scene, and remained quiet for the whole ceremony.

After the whole thing was over – I had to grit my teeth and endure the chaplain saying that my brother Marcus was leaving behind “His parents and his brother Jacob” – everybody slowly left, except for me. Nobody even said a word to me. I just stood in front of the grave for a long time, looking at the headstone: Captain Marcus Bishop, US Army.

“You just had to go ahead and leave me, Mark,” I whispered.

I looked at the grave for a moment longer, and then turned around and started heading for Millie and Isabela, who’d been patiently waiting for me that whole time.

“Excuse me,” I heard someone call.

I turned my head to look at the speaker. It was a soldier, in full dress uniform – a brigadier general, judging from the rank insignia; I realised I’d seen him, though briefly, at my parents’ house the previous day. Weirdly, he was carrying a briefcase: you don’t see those often at funerals.

“Can I help you? Do you need something?” I asked curtly. I was in no mood to deal with someone from the military right at that moment.

The general nodded. “Yes, I do in fact think you can help me. May I ask you what relationship did you have with Captain Bishop?”

“He was my brother.”

He nodded again. “My condolences.” He pulled out some papers from the briefcase and read from them. “And your name is… Jacob Bishop, right?”

I flinched at that casual mention of my former name; it took all I had not to cuss him out. Instead I just hissed, “No it’s not. I had it legally changed.”

“But still, that was your name, wasn’t it?”

“Look, is there a point to this?” I snapped. “What does it matter anyway? My brother is dead!”

“I apologise, miss,” the general said. “But it does matter, a great deal. It’s a matter of national security, in fact, and if I may have a moment of your time I will explain. Half an hour. One hour, maybe. That’s all I ask.”

I glanced from him to Millie and Isabela, who were looking on the scene worriedly. I was about to refuse, but then I thought about what my brother would do in this situation. He would at least hear this man out, wouldn’t he?

I sighed. “Fine. One hour. There’s a café not far from here, you can buy me a coffee and bagel and then we can talk.” I glanced at my aunt and her wife. “Make that three coffees and three bagels.”

“What I have to say is for your ears only,” the general protested.

“They can sit at another table. Those are my conditions, you can accept them or I can just walk away.”

He looked at me for a few moments, and then nodded. I walked over to Millie and Isabela, and explained the situation.

Half an hour later I was sitting across from the general in the café, a mug of coffee and a poppyseed bagel with salmon and cream cheese in front of me. My aunt and her wife were sitting at another table, all the way across the room, which was otherwise deserted – the general had had his men clear out the shop, shooing everyone away, and take it over for a while. I hoped he would refund the owner for the loss of business, at the very least.

“Alright,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me. “I’m listening.”

“First, let me introduce myself,” the man said. He took out a business card from the briefcase, and slid it across the table. “I’m General Alexander Ryder. I was your brother’s commanding officer.”

“Stephanie Kennedy,” I replied.

He nodded. “May I ask when did you last talk with your brother, miss Kennedy?”

“In person, about a year ago, and about three months ago on the phone, on one of the rare occasions he is… He was allowed to use one.” Having to correct myself, to talk about Mark in the past tense, stung quite a bit. “But we exchanged letters quite often.”

General Ryder pulled out a sheaf of paper and placed it on the table, face down.

“And did your brother ever mention the Defender Project?”