Pushkin.

She was a decorated veteran, a Marine who saved her comrades, a hero.

She had been in a convoy, and her vehicle was hit by an ID.

The door from the Humvee had crushed her hip.

I was just like, goodness, gracious, the amount of tragedy and trauma.

I just resolved, like, I am going to do everything that I can do to help you.

She was stoic, modest, tough, someone who inspired people.

I liked her. I liked her a lot. She worked really hard and she was really humble.

She was injured and everybody knew it, but she was still running. I distinctly remember

her saying, if I'm going to have to have my leg amputated, then I'm going to make this bitch

give me every last ounce of what it's got to give.

There were also moments when she said things that seemed a little off or just didn't add up,

but no one called her on it, at least not at first.

It's kind of like if you had a friend that told you that she'd had a miscarriage,

the very last thing that you're going to do to that friend while she's crying about losing a baby is ask her if that actually happened.

Everyone thought they knew her until they didn't.

I picked up the phone just to check my messages before I went back to work,

and that she said you need to come home.

The FBI is here.

I remember sitting on her couch and asking her, is this real?

Is this real?

Is this real?

...