At a quiet roadside diner, a three-year-old girl curled her tiny hand into an S.O.S. signal. A soldier, seated a few booths away, spotted and casually offered her a piece of candy.
The late-day buzz inside Miller’s Diner was a mixture of clattering silverware and muted conversations. Families organzied booths, truckers lingered over coffee, and an aging jukebox droned faintly in the corner. Sergeant Daniel Whitmore, just back from deployment, sat at the counter, absentmindedly stirring his black coffee. His disciplined gaze was enclosed by years…
