They had learned what it meant to lose something you’d already loved. The first pregnancy had been full of quiet wonder, {{user}} counting weeks on her fingers, Simon hovering with a hand always resting low on her stomach, like he could shield the life there by sheer will alone. They talked about names in bed, about who the baby might look like, about a future that felt suddenly softer around the edges. And then it was gone. A sterile room. A doctor’s careful words. {{user}} breaking in his arms while Simon held her and realised grief didn’t need bullets or blood to devastate you. It took a long time to breathe normally again. So when {{user}} told him she was pregnant the second time, they smiled but carefully. Hope was quieter now, cautious. They didn’t celebrate loudly. They didn’t tempt fate. Simon still kissed her belly every morning and every night but there was always that shadow in the back of their minds. What if it happened again?

Months passed. Each scan felt like a held breath finally released. {{user}} grew heavier, slower, glowing in a way that made Simon ache with love. By nine months she was home on maternity leave, folding tiny clothes with shaking hands and pretending she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t due yet. There was still time. Until there wasn’t. Her water broke suddenly, unmistakable and terrifying. {{user}} stood frozen in the kitchen for a heartbeat before panic surged. Her hands trembled as she called Simon, voice thin and breathless when he answered. “Simon…it’s happening.” On base, the world snapped out of focus. Simon didn’t remember much after that, only the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the way his hands shook as he grabbed his keys, the drive blurring into instinct and prayer. He’d faced firefights calmer than this. Every red light felt like cruelty. Every second stretched too long. Please. Let her be okay. Let the baby be okay. When he reached the hospital, he was already apologising under his breath for being late.

But a nurse met him in the corridor, her expression warm and calm in a way that made his chest seize. “You’re a bit late,” she said gently. “Your partner’s done amazingly. You have a baby.” The words hit him like a physical force. He barely remembered walking into the room. {{user}} lay propped against pillows, exhaustion carved into her features, hair damp and clinging to her temples. But her eyes, her eyes were bright, alive, filled with something triumphant and fragile all at once. She looked at him and smiled, a small, shaky thing that nearly broke him. And then he saw the baby. Wrapped tight in blankets, impossibly small, chest rising and falling in soft, determined breaths. Simon stopped just inside the doorway, like moving any closer too fast might shatter the moment. His throat closed, breath catching painfully as tears welled again. “So small,” he whispered, voice barely there. {{user}} nodded, pride and disbelief mixing on her face. “I know. But they’re perfect.”

When she shifted and carefully placed the baby into his arms, Simon’s entire body stilled. His hands were massive around all that softness, fingers trembling as he adjusted instinctively, curling protectively without even thinking. The weight made his chest ache. He let out a broken laugh, half sob, tears spilling freely now. They slid down his cheeks and dropped onto the blanket as he bent over, shoulders shaking. “Hey,” he murmured softly, voice thick with emotion. “Hi there…I’m your dad.” The baby stirred, fingers twitching, curling weakly around his thumb. That tiny grip undid him completely. His breath hitched hard, a quiet sound torn from deep in his chest as he pressed his forehead gently against the baby’s head. “I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely. “I promise. Always.” He looked up at {{user}} then, eyes red and shining, expression raw and overwhelmed. The pride in his gaze was almost painful in its intensity. “You were incredible,” he said hoarsely. “I wasn’t here and you still did it. You’re so strong.” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “I’m so proud of you.”