Neither woman saved the other once.
They took turns.
On the anniversary of the cafeteria confrontation, Maya walked in carrying her usual tray and stopped.
Sarah was already seated at the same table.
One chair beside her was empty.
Not reserved.
Saved.
Sarah tapped the back of it.
“There’s space here.”
Maya smiled.
Around them, majors, captains, junior officers, and civilians ate at mixed tables without anyone treating proximity like privilege. The television above the beverage station showed muted news. Ice moved in plastic cups. Forks touched plates.
Ordinary sounds.
Maya set down her tray and sat.
Sarah did not have to stand this time.
Nobody did.
The chair had become what it should have been from the beginning: a place one person could offer another without asking rank for permission.
