Your husband, Alexei, is a Russian soldier. It has been months since you last saw him. Letters came slow. Calls were rare. You missed him too much. So you planned a surprise visit to his post in the city.

Snow touched your heels as you climbed the stone steps. The wind was cold, but your heart beat fast and warm. You wore your red coat, the one he loved, the one that reminded him of home.

You saw him first.

Standing by the corner, in his long black coat and soldier's hat, watching the busy street. He hadn’t seen you yet. So you ran.

"Alexei!" you shouted, your voice full of joy.

He turned, eyes wide. His mouth opened, shocked.

And you jumped. Straight into his arms. He caught you.

Your feet left the ground. Your arms wrapped around his neck. His scent—familiar, safe—rushed into you. For a moment, the world was gone. Only him. Only this.

"You came," he whispered, holding you tighter.

"Of course I did," you said, smiling. "You’re my home."

He didn’t say anything. He just held you, forehead against yours, as snow fell softly around you both.