The enemy released footage months later showing Luke.
Not Aaron.
Then intelligence intercepted reports suggesting Aaron died from injuries during captivity.
A grave was found.
Remains were recovered.
DNA testing was inconclusive because of contamination.
The Army listed him as missing, then later presumed dead.
No body positively identified.
No funeral with remains.
Only a memorial.
Aaron's mother refused a formal burial.
Hannah attended the service anyway.
He knew these facts intellectually.
He had not yet learned what they did to the people who loved him.
Hannah moved closer.
"They told me you were gone."
Aaron turned.
"And you decided to have my baby."
Her face tightened.
"Our baby."
"You decided alone."
"Yes."
He looked surprised by the honesty.
She continued.
"I did."
Aaron waited.
"I'm not going to pretend you were part of the decision."
Hannah wiped tears away.
"You weren't."
"Because everyone thought I was dead."
"Because I thought you were dead."
Aaron looked down.
Hannah took a breath.
"I didn't wake up one morning and suddenly decide I wanted a baby."
"Then what happened?"
She looked toward the house.
"For months after the memorial, I couldn't go into our bedroom."
Aaron glanced back.
The room that now belonged partly to Noah.
"I slept on the couch."
Her voice shook.
"I stopped answering friends. I stopped working for almost three months. I barely ate."
Aaron said nothing.
"Your mom came every morning."
He looked at Denise through the front window.
She held Noah near the living room.
The baby was playing with her necklace.
Hannah continued.
"One day the fertility clinic called."
Aaron frowned.
"Why?"
"Storage fees."
He almost laughed.
The mundanity of it.
His death reduced to a bill.
Hannah gave a sad smile.
"I had forgotten the embryos were still there."
Aaron remembered the forms.
They had chosen continued storage.
Both names listed.
Aaron Mitchell.
Hannah Mitchell.
"Clinic said I needed to decide what to do."
"What were the options?"
"Continue storage. Donation. Destruction."
Aaron flinched at the final word.
Hannah noticed.
"So did I."
She wrapped her arms around herself.
"I couldn't sign the destruction form."
Aaron looked toward the yard.
"Okay."
"And I couldn't donate them."
"Why?"
"They were ours."
Aaron closed his eyes.
Hannah continued.
"They were the last thing in the world that was still both of us."
That sentence penetrated his anger.
He looked at her.
She was crying again.
"I kept thinking that if I let them go, that was it."
Her voice broke.
"No more Aaron."
"No future we made together."
Aaron swallowed.
"So you had one transferred."
"Eventually."
"One?"
"One."
"And it worked."
She laughed through tears.
"First time."
Aaron looked toward the house.