When Jessica Serrato’s partner called a few hours into a hectic morning in Southern California, she felt a small, immediate relief.
The call meant the internet at his base hadn’t been knocked out by another Iranian strike. It meant his unit wasn’t moving for safety. Most of all, it meant he was alive.
Serrato balanced the phone on her shoulder as she flipped pancakes and ran through familiar questions: “How was guard duty today? Did you get dinner?” She always answered his calls. She missed him, and since the fighting between the U.S. and Iran began she listened for nuances in his voice — the tiredness, the strain — that might reveal how he was holding up.
About 50,000 U.S. troops are deployed across the Middle East as clashes continue into a third month. With bursts of strikes, shaky truces and slow diplomacy, many military families are confronting the anxiety of a loved one serving in an active war zone for the first time.
NPR spent time with Serrato and her partner’s family to see how the conflict has reshaped life at home. The soldier is an Army reservist whose family asked that he not be named for fear of retribution.
On that morning’s call, the couple traded small comforts and practical updates. When Serrato mentioned that her 11-year-old daughter, Laylah, had a dance performance that afternoon, she promised to record it and send it — the sort of small connection that has become a stand-in for being there. Her partner’s return to Los Angeles had already been pushed back a month, meaning he would miss Laylah’s birthday. Now the family hopes he can come home in August, around the start of sixth grade.
Serrato’s partner volunteered for a nine-month deployment, partly for the extra pay to help buy a house. His most recent tour began in October. By late February, U.S. and Israeli strikes in Iran set off a series of retaliatory attacks across the region. Serrato recalls a middle-of-the-night call when she could hear sirens from his end of the line. She told him, “I love you. Look out for yourself. Be aware of your surroundings,” and then cried when the call ended.
At home, she tries to shield her children from the worst of the news. Early in the conflict, Laylah struggled to concentrate in class, consumed by worst-case scenarios. Yet the family carries on with routines: school drop-offs, boba runs and small jokes slipped into conversations to keep the day moving.
The couple and their extended families have watched the headlines obsessively, hoping for signs the war will ease. Serrato says the frequent false starts — announced deadlines, tentative ceasefires and quick reversals — have made it hard to trust official timelines. “How many times have they said there’s a deadline?” she asks. “I just can’t believe anything that they say.”
The conflict has also exposed the logistical challenges of modern deployments. Shannon Razsadin, CEO of the Military Family Advisory Network, says many service members are being sent overseas on short notice under Operation Epic Fury. Monthslong deployments used to come with more lead time, allowing families to plan finances and child care. Now, some Guard and reserve members are mobilized in days, leaving spouses scrambling.
Serrato’s partner had a few months’ notice before leaving, but that’s not always the case. Razsadin pointed out that reservists and National Guard families often don’t live near military installations, which makes it harder to access support services and community resources.
Kathy Roth-Douquet, CEO of Blue Star Families, noted the personal toll: some spouses reduce work hours or leave jobs entirely to keep the household running while a partner is deployed. “This is an extra burden of military service,” she said, underscoring the ripple effects on families who shoulder that sacrifice.
Serrato has leaned heavily on another source of strength: the reservist’s mother, Yadira Dessaint. The two women bonded almost immediately after the deployment became dangerous. When the Pentagon confirmed the first U.S. service members killed in the conflict — a toll that has since risen to 14 — Dessaint and Serrato sobbed together on the phone.
A week after a scare at the soldier’s base, Serrato and her children moved in with Dessaint. They have built an unspoken intimacy: gestures like a hug when one of them needs encouragement, or quiet check-ins about the latest news from the region. Dessaint describes asking her son, “Have you seen any shooting stars?” as a way of inquiring about missiles or drones without letting the question break her voice.
At night, Serrato and Dessaint light a candle to St. Michael the Archangel and pray together for protection and for the reservist’s mental health. Serrato says she prays not only for his safety but that he regain the feeling of being okay. She can tell when he’s down. “I can hear how sad he feels,” she says. In those moments she keeps her phone close, because when she doesn’t know what to say he asks only that she be steady, tell him she loves him and reassure him everything will be all right.
For families like Serrato’s, the war has meant trading ordinary milestones for missed birthdays and postponed reunions. It has meant learning to find strength in each other — parents, in-laws, friends — while trusting little else. It has also meant grappling with the emotional labor of staying calm for children and partners and finding community resources when available.
Despite the strain, Serrato tries to provide the steady presence her partner asks for. “That’s the least I could do,” she says. For now, life at home remains paused in many ways: everyday routines continue, but plans and expectations hang in uncertainty until the conflict’s next turn.