“THE TAGS SHE NEVER TOOK OFF”**
Fort Campbell’s mess hall was quiet in the early morning, the kind of stillness that settled just before the rush of breakfast. The overhead lights buzzed softly, reflecting off stainless-steel counters and rows of empty chairs.
Staff Sergeant Sarah Mitchell stepped into line, reaching for a tray. Her dog tags clinked against her uniform—tags she had worn every day for six years. She never removed them. Not for PT, not for sleep, not even in the shower.
Sergeant First Class Marcus Webb noticed immediately.
He always noticed details. Thought it made him a good NCO.
“Those your boyfriend’s tags, Sergeant?” he called out, loud enough to turn a few heads.
Sarah didn’t answer. Just kept moving.
