At Thanksgiving, my uncle, a retired colonel, was discussing strategy. He cut me off: “Sweetheart, we’re talking about real operations. You wouldn’t understand the complexity. Leave it to us men.” Then his phone buzzed with a text from his old unit. He read it and looked up at me, stunned.

Chapter 9

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But when someone interrupted me now, I finished my sentence.

When someone underestimated me, I didn’t rush to prove them wrong.

And when a man told me a subject was too complicated for me because I was a woman?

Well.

I usually smiled.

Because somewhere in Virginia, there was a retired Army colonel who had learned exactly how dangerous that assumption could be.

And every Thanksgiving, when the conversation turned toward strategy, Uncle Frank did something he had never done during the first sixteen years of my career.

He stopped talking.

He looked across the table at me.

And he listened.

THE END

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At Thanksgiving, my uncle, a retired colonel, was discussing strategy. He cut me off: “Sweetheart, we’re talking about real operations. You wouldn’t understand the complexity. Leave it to us men.” Then his phone buzzed with a text from his old unit. He read it and looked up at me, stunned.
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