The Command PresenceThe heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots echoing through the apartment hallway shattered the suffocating silence inside the bedroom

My father didn't return the salute immediately. He didn't even turn his head. His eyes remained locked on the horrific pattern of purple, black, and yellow bruises covering my seven-month pregnant body. The dark, unmistakable shape of a handprint etched right next to my swollen belly seemed to burn into his retinas. I could see the veins in his neck bulging, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped violently beneath his weathered skin. The silver eagle insignia on his shoulders caught the weak apartment light, casting a predatory gleam.