"Steve," her voice is pained. Strained. "I couldn't be angry. Not about--"

God, it must read like some blinding fairy's tale: the statuesque hero, gone down in tragic self-sacrifice for his nation. And the weeping woman ever left behind. Her jaw stiffened at the thought -- it isn't the sort of woman she aims to be. She'd had a year and then some to live a productive life worthy of Steve's sacrifice, and not to wallow. She shouldn't start wallowing now. With him so near!

"I promise not an inch of me is angry."