My sister. In all my life, the one thing I'd done that I could point to with pride—the one stupid knight-in-shining-armor knee-jerk reaction that had worked out for the best—was hauling Theresa out of that little suburb of Hell beneath Fort Lewis. Helping her through the nightmares and post-traumatic stress syndrome and all the drek that followed. Seeing that she was clean, sober and sane, and then letting her go about her own life.