My Love Was Gone

The black SUV drove away from the villa area and merged into the endless stream of city traffic.

I sat in the back seat and clutched a necklace tightly in my hand. It held Jacob's ashes.

A sealed manila envelope was passed to me by my fellow soldier from the front seat.

"Your codename is Falcon. This is your new identity and mission briefing. The destination was the notoriously deadly region in Meridiana known as the Tri-Zone of Death." From the moment you sign it, there will be no Nicole Norris Powell in the world.

I didn't hesitate before signing my name on the final page.

The city's neon lights blurred past, which I had once dreamed of seeing with Jacob.

Rodger used to say that he was busy and that we should wait until later.

Now, it no longer mattered.

I pressed the necklace to my heart and whispered, "Jacob, I am taking you away."

After I returned to the base, my performance in the first comprehensive test showed a decline across all metrics.

On the training ground, I struggled to carry a thirty-kilogram log.

Sweat stung my eyes painfully.

"Is this Falcon, the legendary fighter?" Someone mocked me from nearby.

A few new recruits stood in the shade, arms crossed, and watched as I was training.

The speaker was a young man with a buzz cut, and his eyes were full of disdain. "Wouldn't it be easier for a woman to focus on family life? When she's out in the field, she might hold back the team. It could be fatal."

Low laughter erupted around them.

I didn't stop, nor did I argue.

I just gritted my teeth, straightened my back once more, and took another heavy step.

They didn't know that I had no home anymore.

Nor did I have a family lift either.

I only had my life now.

From that day on, the training ground saw a new, tireless figure.

At four in the morning, I was at the obstacle course. At midnight, I was in the shooting range.

My training uniform was soaked with sweat and then dried by body heat, leaving patches of white salt stains.

The calluses on my hands were torn open, mixing blood with gun oil. I simply wrapped them with medical tape and continued to hold the gun.

I knew it wasn't just physical decline.

A sniper required absolute calm and steadiness.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jacob's smiling face and the scene where Rodger turned away with Jolene in his arms.

I submitted a request for deep hypnosis therapy.

I lay on the white treatment bed and heard the steady "beep" of the machine ring in my ears.

The doctor stood beside me and confirmed for the last time. "I must warn you again that this is a permanent emotional detachment. It will cut away a part of your perception like a scalpel. You will forget some people and some things. This process is irreversible."

"Okay," I said, I closed my eyes and said, "You can begin."

The cold medication flowed through the IV into my veins.

My consciousness started to sink into a dark vortex.

All the memories I had suppressed broke free, flashing madly in my mind.

Jacob reached out his hands and called out in his sweet voice. "Mommy, hold me."

Rodger pushed me and Jacob towards the kidnappers while he was holding Jolene tightly.

I was on my knees and watched Jolene paint with Jacob's ashes mixed into the painting.

Rodger stood behind me and said, Nicole, what are you going crazy about?"

The data on the hypnosis machine fluctuated violently, and it emitted a piercing alarm.

A warm tear slid down my cheek and disappeared into my hairline.

When the lights came back on, I slowly sat up from the treatment bed.

It felt like a large part of my mind had been emptied, leaving a void, but my heart no longer ached.

I no longer had nightmares, nor did I suffer from insomnia.

My hands became as steady as a rock once more.

I returned to the sniper training range and raised the gun.

Five shots rang out, almost as one.

The target monitor announced. "Five shots, all hit the bulls-eye."

In the center, there was only a single bullet hole.

The instructor picked up my psychological assessment report and shooting scores. He studied them for a long while.

He looked up, and his eyes were filled with emotions I couldn't decipher.

He extended his hand to me and said, "Welcome back, Falcon."

During the jungle combat exercise, I was the sniper and lay hidden in a swamp for a full forty-eight hours.

The rain washed over me, and mud clung to my skin.

A colorful, venomous snake slithered over my camouflage paint. Its cold tongue flicked near my eyelid.

I didn't move. Nor did I blink my eyes.

When the exercise's end signal flares lit up the sky, I rose from the mire and "eliminated" the opposing force's commander at the designated spot.

The teammate who had once mocked me became a "prisoner," and I "rescued" him.

He looked at my mud-covered body, at my eyes devoid of emotion. The disdain and mockery on his face vanished, replaced by only respect.

No one dared to speak a word.

The previous version of me, who once lived a quiet domestic life, was gone.

The one who survived was Falcon.