A choking sound came from the man still standing just inside the door, and Sarah paused but didn’t look up. She drew in a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. The general scrubbed a hand down his cheek, and Gavin couldn’t decipher the look on his face.

“‘And yet,’” Sarah continued, “‘something’s going on. People are dying by suicide. I’ve done some research into those involved and some things aren’t adding up. There’s a psychiatrist in Kabul who’s working with several doctors in the States. Her name is Emily Winslow. Any patients who exhibit PTSD symptoms are sent to her hospital. She makes the diagnoses and prescribes the medication. She then writes the discharge order and sends the patients home to be treated at their local VA hospital.’”

The general gasped and Sarah finally looked at him. “Did you know?”

“No.”

“But you were the one who asked her to discharge me with the diagnosis.”

“I did, but not because I knew anything about this trial.”

“Was Dustin officially discharged?”

Her father shook his head. “I found out he got out the day he . . . died, but I never asked whether his tour was up or if he was discharged. I’m guessing since he was in the VA psychiatric ward for close to three months, Winslow discharged him like she did you.”

“Might want to find that out.”

He nodded. “Keep reading, please.”

“‘Anyway, I saw the piece you did on the bombing of the orphanage in Kabul. That was truly great work. I could feel the pain. Your article wept with those suffering and I was so proud—’”

Her voice cracked and she swiped a stray tear. Gavin wanted to gather her in a hug and take away her pain but didn’t think it was the right moment. Another shuddering breath and she read on.