“It’s beautiful,” she said.

But no one ever asked what I was praying for.

They saw the uniform. They saw Finch resting quietly, like he understood the weight of the moment. People saw strength, faith, and sacrifice. But they didn’t see the fear. They didn’t see the reality behind that photo.

I wasn’t praying because I felt strong. I was praying because I didn’t know what else to do.

Just before that moment, Finch and I had finished clearing a small compound. Then came the blast—close enough to shake us, but not close enough to cause serious injury. At least, not to me. Finch hadn’t moved since. He was badly hurt, his leg bleeding, his eyes locked on mine. He whimpered once, then went still. There were no medics for him. Just a roll