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If I corrected him gently, he\u2019d roll his eyes and say something like, \u201cRelax, Major. Not everything has to be by the book.\u201d The tone wasn\u2019t playful anymore. It was condescending.<\/p>\n
A week before the barbecue, he called me a \u201cfragile officer type.\u201d It was in response to something minor, something I don\u2019t even remember now. But the phrase stuck with me. Fragile. As if I hadn\u2019t earned everything I had. As if my rank was handed to me. As if I didn\u2019t train, didn\u2019t lead, didn\u2019t serve.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t respond. I let it go. But I knew something had shifted between us. And I didn\u2019t know if it could be fixed.<\/p>\n
The early signs of Tyler\u2019s new arrogance weren\u2019t loud. They were small, scattered across conversations and interactions that I might have dismissed if I hadn\u2019t been paying attention. But I was paying attention. I\u2019d known him his whole life. I could tell when something was off.<\/p>\n
His replies to my messages became clipped, almost robotic. If I asked how training was going, he\u2019d say, \u201cGood.\u201d If I asked what he\u2019d been up to, he\u2019d say, \u201cNothing much.\u201d No details, no warmth, just enough to technically respond without actually engaging. It felt like he was putting distance between us on purpose, like he didn\u2019t want to let me in anymore.<\/p>\n