After nine months away on deployment, I thought the hardest part would be coming home.
I was wrong.
The hardest part was opening the front door and realizing I no longer seemed to have a home.
My name is Daniel, and I had been stationed overseas for most of the year.
Before leaving, I had packed my belongings carefully into the house I had shared with my wife, Lauren.
We had promised each other that the house would be waiting for me when I returned.
So when my flight finally landed, I was exhausted but excited.
I imagined a hot shower, my own bed, and finally seeing my wife again.
Instead, when I opened the front door, I found dozens of black trash bags stacked along the hallway.
My clothes were inside.
My books.
My photographs.
Even the wooden box containing my grandfather’s letters had been thrown into a bag.
