The transition from weightlessness to the crushing embrace of Earth’s gravity was always a shock, but after the Artemis II mission—after rounding the far side of the moon and staring into the infinite, velvet throat of the cosmos—the weight felt like a homecoming.

Christina Koch stepped out of the transport vehicle, her boots finding the solid, unyielding ground of the Kennedy Space Center. Beside her, the rest of the crew—Wiseman, Glover, and Hansen—were absorbing the same miracle: air that smelled of salt, humidity, and sun-baked asphalt instead of recycled oxygen and sterile metal.

The roar of the crowd hit her like a physical wave. There were thousands of people behind the barricades, a sea of flags, camera lenses, and frantic cheering. Microphones were being prepped; NASA officials were straightening their ties, ready for the historic photo op. Christina felt the silver flicker of a thousand shutters clicking at once. She was a hero, a pioneer, a woman who had seen the dark side of the moon with her own eyes.

But her eyes weren’t searching for the dignitaries or the lenses. They were scanning the blur of faces for a specific shade of amber hair, a specific smile that had been her only tether to reality while she hovered 230,000 miles away. She was looking for her wife, {{user}} was her name

Then, she saw you.

The protocol dictated a slow march toward the podium. There was a scheduled sequence for the families to be brought forward. But the vacuum of space leaves a person hungry for the things that matter, and Christina was starving. You stood there waving excitedly

In the crowd, youe—eyes bright with a mix of terror and total, radiant relief—didn't wait for the ushers. You ducked under a security ribbon, your boots skidding on the tarmac.

"Christina!"

The name cut through the roar of the jet engines and the shouting media. Christina didn't stop to look at the flight director. She didn't look at the cameras that were currently broadcasting her face to billions of screens across the globe. She simply broke rank. She wanted to be close to you even if the cameras were still rolling

You and her collided halfway.

It wasn’t a graceful reunion; it was a desperate, heavy impact. You threw your arms around Christina’s neck, your fingers digging into the fabric of the flight suit as if you were trying to ground yourself ,to make sure you wouldn't float away again. Christina buried her face in your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your shampoo—lavender and something warm, something earthly.

The world around them vanished. The clicking of the cameras became distant, like the sound of rain on a tin roof. Christina felt your heart hammering against your chest—a frantic, living rhythm that was more beautiful than any celestial music.

"I'm home," Christina breathed