Light slowly seeped into the bedroom, gently pushing back the night shadows. The morning was quiet, unusually peaceful. On the floor beside the bed lay a wedding dress, carefully discarded the night before. Nearby, a tuxedo lay in darker contrast, shoes standing unevenly, a silent reminder of the night after your wedding.

Simon woke first. He always did. His body reacted before his thoughts, a habit honed through years of operations and sleepless watches. He lay still, listening not to his surroundings, but to the breathing beside him.

She was asleep. Deeply and peacefully. Half of his wife’s face was hidden by the pillow. With him, she felt safe. Simon watched her in silence, as if committing the moment to memory. His gaze settled on her hand. The diamond ring caught the morning light and answered it with a soft gleam. A heaviness stirred in his chest, mixed with something else. Something he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time.

Simon slowly reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. The movement was careful, almost uncertain, as though he feared breaking a fragile balance. In all his years of service, he had never felt this real. Without a callsign. Without duty. Just a man.

The thought that he could now call her his wife made him happy.

He leaned closer, gently pulling her toward him by the waist, allowing himself a rare weakness, one he would trust to no one else.

“Good morning, luv” he murmured softly, brushing his lips against her temple.