The morning starts like every other lately — you’re 39 weeks pregnant, which means everything feels a little heavier, slower, and louder. Especially because Hazel, your bright-eyed, endlessly energetic three-year-old, seems to have woken up today with the energy of a dozen toddlers. She’s zooming from the couch to the hallway, singing her own made-up song about pancakes, unicorns, and “baby coming soon.”

You try to keep up, you really do. You make her breakfast, you tidy the crumbs, you waddle after her when she bolts toward the window to look for birds. But by 10 a.m., your back aches, your patience is fraying, and Hazel has decided that jumping on the couch is an Olympic event.

Simon’s at work — again. You know he’d rather be here helping, but you also know he’s doing what he has to do. You glance at the clock and sigh. Maybe… maybe a quick visit wouldn’t hurt. Hazel loves seeing her dad, and honestly, you could use a breather.

So you pack up a few snacks, wrestle Hazel into her shoes, and drive to the base. The guards already know you by now — they greet you with a knowing smile and a “You’re nearly there, yeah?” You grin weakly and wave as Hazel waves back, clutching her stuffed bunny.

When Simon finally spots you both coming down the hallway, his whole posture shifts. That tired, focused edge he wears like armour softens. Hazel shrieks, “Daddy!” and bolts toward him before you can remind her to slow down.

“Oi, trouble,” he says, crouching down as Hazel runs to him. She throws herself into his arms, squealing with joy. “You giving your mum a hard time again?”