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“Monica.”

She blew out a breath. “Well, I made the mistake of falling in love.”

Mom tsked. “Not with another military man.”

“Afraid so.”

“Irresistible, aren’t they? Let me guess, the dark-haired one who made eyes at you the whole time we were there.”

“Made eyes at me,” Monica scoffed.

“Couldn’t take them off you. The minute your father and I were alone, I told him that man was in love with our daughter.”

“What did Daddy say to that?”

“If I remember correctly, he grunted and changed the subject.” Mom sipped from her mug thoughtfully. “Love shouldn’t make you sad, sweetheart.”

“No, it shouldn’t. And it doesn’t. Loving him doesn’t make me sad at all, but…” Monica studied her mother. This woman had made a marriage with a difficult man in a difficult situation. She’d stayed with him through war and PTSD, and Monica had never once doubted her mother’s love or devotion to her father, even when she’d doubted her own.

But Mom was also a force. She let her opinion be known, and Monica had made it a habit to never ask for advice or help. Mom usually gave it whether Monica wanted it or not, but with some hindsight and some rough patches in her own life, Monica realized she’d been remiss, because her mother was one of the strongest, most self-reliant women Monica had ever known.

“When Dad… After he came back and he wasn’t… When he…”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “You’ve become a therapist for men with PTSD and you’re afraid to say the words to me?”

“I think I’m afraid to utter the words under his roof.”

Mom smiled a little at that. “When your father came back from Desert Storm suffering from severe PTSD… Go on.”

“How did you keep believing? How did you stick by him even when it was so bleak?” And it had been bleak. Monica remembered the fear. The bursts of temper. At her. At Mom. At himself. It had been sad and scary, and Mom had never once acted it. Not in front of Monica.

Mom looked at her mug. “I made vows,” she said carefully. “I wasn’t going to break them.”

“Is that all that got you through?”

“Some days.” She lifted her gaze, her lips twisting wryly. “I’m not going to lie to you.”

“You never have.”

Mom chuckled a little at that, then sighed. “I know my practicality can be harsh sometimes, but I always thought that was best, and it got me through a lot of days, too. The reality was your father wasn’t the man I loved, but I believed the man I loved was still there. Or if not, that someone was there I could love. Love…” Mom smiled. “That was what got me through. Oh, I worried. I was deeply afraid whatever love he had was dead, but mine wasn’t. I don’t believe in a lot of intangible things, Monica, as you well know, but I believe in love.”

Mom reached out, cupped Monica’s cheek. “I believe in it because I’ve been surrounded by it. Your grandparents, your father—before war and then after his own—you, my baby girl. Oh, the love I’ve felt for you. Honestly, that was what got me through. Love. My mother, you. It all gave me the strength to keep loving him, even when he wasn’t him at all.” Mom dropped her hand. “So, your man has PTSD?”

Monica shook her head. “No. Actually, he doesn’t. But he had a horrible childhood with very little love, and I don’t think… He doesn’t seem to believe in it.”

“So he doesn’t love you back.”

“That’s the worst part. He said he did. He said he loved me, but he doesn’t want to. He says he doesn’t want it. Love. Us. A relationship. I spent two days trying to…understand that. But I can’t. And I can’t fight it. If he doesn’t want love, to love me or me to love him, how can I fight that?”

“I wish I had a very practical answer for that. A map or steps you could follow.”

“But you don’t. Because it’s impossible. Ican’tfight it.”

“If you love him, you can fight anything. Trite advice, but the truth.” Mom shrugged. “Even when you don’t know how, even when you think it’s useless, even when it would be easier to turn around and walk away. That’s what I did with your father. I guess I was too stubborn to give up even when it felt hopeless. For you. For me. For the man I loved. I just kept fighting, and you know, the damnedest thing happened.”

“What?” Monica croaked through her tight, scratchy throat.

Mom smiled, but a tear dropped over her cheek. “One day, we were sitting down, eating breakfast. It was a day like any other. He looked up at me across the table, and he said, ‘Lorraine, I’m going to see that therapist.’ No warning. No inciting incident. Just suddenly, after years, long, painful years of ups and downs, he finally agreed. Love isn’t a thunderstorm. It’s the way a river cuts through rock over time.” She reached out and squeezed Monica’s arm. “I’m sorry you didn’t have that chance with Dex, but if you have a chance now…”