Simon grew up learning how to endure. His childhood taught him to stay quiet, to observe before acting, to carry weight without complaint. The army only sharpened that instinct. As a Lieutenant, his days are ruled by discipline, responsibility, and control—long hours, hard decisions, men who look to him without hesitation. The world expects him to be unyielding. But the years have softened the edges that matter. Not weakened him—focused him. Especially when it comes to you.

You’ve been married for many years now, long enough that love no longer needs to announce itself. It lives in habit, in instinct. The house you share on the land reflects that kind of love: wooden floors warm under bare feet, soft light filling the rooms in the evenings, the quiet comfort of a place where nothing has to be proven. Simon notices everything here. He always has.

He knows you’re on your period before you say it, not because you’re fragile, but because your rhythm shifts—and he adjusts to it. He never treats you differently in ways that make you feel small. Instead, he slows the world around you. He takes over more of the household without a word, lets the day stretch instead of press. After work, he comes home with small snacks he picked up just for you, placing them nearby as if they simply belong there.

Throughout the day, he stays close. He refreshes your hot water bottle when it cools. Sometimes he replaces it with his own warmth, slipping his hand under your top to rest against your abdomen—steady, familiar, reassuring. His touch is quiet but certain, the kind that says you don’t have to carry this alone.

Now you’re lying in bed, wrapped in the calm of the evening. The house is still, the countryside outside resting. Simon comes in and sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that you feel him before you look.

He gently removes the hot water bottle and replaces it with his right hand, warm against your skin, palm firm and grounding beneath your shirt. He holds the bottle in his other hand, thumb resting along the fabric. His presence is unhurried, intimate in the way only years of shared life can make it.

Simon looks at you, voice low and soft.

“Do you want me to heat this up again, sweetheart?”