LOS ANGELES — When Jessica Serrato's boyfriend called a few hours into her morning, she was finally able to breathe.
His call meant the internet at his military base wasn't disrupted by any Iranian strikes. It meant that his unit wasn't relocating for their safety like they have before. Most importantly, it meant that he's still alive.
As she whisked pancake batter, Serrato cradled the phone on her shoulder and ran through her routine questions:
"How was guard duty today?" Serrato asked. "Have you had dinner?"
No matter how busy the mother of two kids was, Serrato always answered her partner's call. She missed him. But since the war with Iran broke out, Serrato's need to hear his voice was also driven by worry. Is he safe? How is he holding up mentally? What if this is our last chance to talk?
About 50,000 American troops are currently deployed across the Middle East as hostilities between the U.S. and Iran grind into a third month. The two nations are once again at an impasse — with President Trump on Monday calling Iran's latest demands "garbage" and warning that the ceasefire was on "massive life support."
Military life has always involved some degree of uncertainty. But for many families, including Serrato's, the war in Iran is the first time they are navigating the fear and unknowns that come with having a loved one deployed to an ongoing conflict.
NPR spent time with the family of an Army reservist and got a close look at how the war — with its bursts of fighting, shaky truce and slow-moving peace talks — has reshaped life at home thousands of miles away. The family asked NPR to not name the soldier because they say he fears retribution for being featured in a media story.
In their separate worlds, Serrato and her partner both anxiously looked for signs that the war was winding down.
" If I find out something, I'll let you know," she said over the phone. "If you find out something, let me know?" To which he agreed.
Missed birthdays and school performances
As she whipped up the pancakes, Serrato listened carefully to the tone of her partner's voice — trying to discern if he was stressed or overwhelmed, which can be hard for him to admit on his own.
This morning, he sounded lethargic.
"You're OK?" She asked. "Are you bored?"
He confirmed that he was all right and so Serrato's focus swung back to her children. She could have pried more but she doesn't like to discuss the war in front of her two kids, who are from a previous marriage. At the start of the conflict, Serrato said her 11-year-old daughter Laylah had difficulty concentrating in class, consumed with worst-case scenarios.
"Laylah wants to tell you something," Serrato announced over the phone.
"Chicken butt!" Laylah giggled.
Serrato continued the call from her car. For a few moments, the conversation flowed like he was there — until Serrato mentioned that Laylah had a dance performance in the afternoon.
"I know that's way past your bedtime," she said. "I'll record it and send it to you."
Serrato's partner is expected to return to Los Angeles this summer but she's skeptical. His return date has already been delayed a month — meaning he'll miss Laylah's birthday. Now, the hope is to reunite by August, which is Laylah's first day of sixth grade.
After Serrato dropped off her children at school, she and her partner finally had their first moment truly alone that morning. In a soft voice, he told her that he wanted to come home.
"I know, mi amor."
'I love you. Look out for yourself'
When Serrato's partner volunteered to go on a nine-month deployment to the Middle East, he mainly thought about the extra pay and how it could help buy their first house, she said.
Serrato, who's an assistant at a law firm, reminded herself that they had managed long distance before, when he was deployed to Europe a few years ago. They could do it again, she thought.
His most recent deployment began in October. Come late February, the U.S. and Israel had launched airstrikes in Iran, setting off a series of back-and-forth attacks across the region. Serrato had no idea what was happening until her partner called in the middle of the night. She said she could hear sirens from his end of the line.
"I love you. Look out for yourself. Be aware of your surroundings," she replied, trying her best to sound strong and calm. But as soon as the call ended, Serrato said she broke down.
Over the next few weeks, Serrato and her partner's parents were glued to the news — constantly searching for updates on additional strikes or a potential truce between the U.S. and Iran.
"I would bring up one thing and another thing. 'Did you hear about this? Did you hear anything about that? Did they mention this?' " Serrato said. "And he would tell me the same thing, 'I don't know.' "
But as the conflict dragged on, Serrato couldn't read the headlines anymore — they only added to her stress. She said it was difficult trying to keep up with the rapidly evolving political situation, which would bring moments of hope, quickly dashed by disappointment.
"How many times have they said there's a deadline? How many times have they said, 'OK, there's a ceasefire right now. We're gonna work something out?' " She said, referring to U.S. officials. "I just can't believe anything that they say."
Deployment challenges
A unique aspect to the current conflict is that many service members are being deployed on short notice, according to Shannon Razsadin, the CEO of the Military Family Advisory Network.
A monthslong deployment typically requires a lot of prep work for military families, such as managing finances and arranging child care. During the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Razsadin said most families had months to prepare. But under Operation Epic Fury, many service members were sent off in a matter of days.
"During the global war on terror, people had a lot of lead time before their deployments," she said. " Commands were able to help the full family get ready for the deployment so that they knew what to expect when that happened. We don't really have that right now."
Serrato's partner had a few months' notice before he left. But for families of National Guard members or reservists, deployments can be especially challenging because they often don't live near or on military bases — as in Serrato's case — making it harder to access resources and support networks, Razsadin added.
Kathy Roth-Douquet, CEO of Blue Star Families, said as a result of these sudden deployments, some spouses have had to cut back on their work hours or quit their jobs to hold down the home front.
" This is an extra burden of military service, of the sacrifice that the whole family makes to do the nation's bidding," she said. "And it's even more reason why it's incumbent upon the rest of us to really help support these folks."
'She's the one who gives me strength'
"Have you seen any shooting stars?"
That's how Yadira Dessaint, the mother of the Army reservist, asks her son if he's seen any missiles or drones in the sky. She can't utter those exact words without getting emotional.
Dessaint's son was only a kid when the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan broke out, but she remembers how many men and women lost their lives in the same region that her only child was heading to.
When he told her about his deployment, Dessaint texted him "I'm so proud of you" before she stepped away from work, sat in her car and bawled.
"I called my husband and I was crying on the top of my lungs, like ugly crying in my car," she said.
The hardest moment for Dessaint came March 1 when the Pentagon identified the first U.S. service members killed in the war. The U.S. military death toll has since risen to 14.
That same day, Dessaint's son told her and Serrato that his military base was under attack. The two women immediately called one another and wept.
Their bond has been a silver lining. A week later, Serrato and her children moved into Dessaint's home. The two have since built an unspoken connection, each knowing when the other is feeling especially bogged down by the conflict.
"She'll just come and give me a hug," Serrato said. "She's the one who gives me strength."
'I just miss him feeling OK'
Dessaint and Serrato have started a new tradition in the waiting.
Before bed, they light a candle for St. Michael the Archangel and lower their heads. This evening, her children joined them — setting aside their homework and video games to pray.
Serrato said out loud, " Defend us in the battle. Be our protector."
She was praying not only for her partner's physical protection — but also his mental well-being. As agonizing as it has been at home, Serrato knows it has been tougher for him overseas.
"I can hear it in his voice. Like, I can hear how sad he feels," she said. "I just miss him feeling OK."
It's why her phone is always within reach. Serrato wants to be a steady presence — someone her partner can count on during a war that's unpredictable.
" When I don't know what to say, he just tells me, 'Just be there for me, baby. Just tell me you love me and everything's gonna be OK,'" she said.
So, that's what she tells him over and over. Even when things feel far from OK.
She said, "That's the least I could do."
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