Ezra had always loved her with the quiet devotion of a man forged by the sea—strong, steady, but often far from shore. His dream of building a family had always seemed just out of reach, drifting between tides and timetables. The navy demanded much of him—long months, distant waters—and he gave it what it asked, though his heart remained anchored at home. He tried to make up for the absences with ink and paper, writing letter after letter, each one a small attempt to bridge the ever-growing silence. But they were never enough. Not for her. Not for him.

Then came the voyage that changed everything.

Only a week after Ezra had departed once more, {{user}} found herself alone—and with child. A mix of fear and joy rushed through her veins as she sent the first letter, then another, then another still. She wrote about the morning sickness, the growing swell of her belly, the sound of the heartbeat. She sent test results, ultrasound images, tiny notes signed with trembling hands and tearstained corners. For seven long months, she waited for a reply that never came.

The letters never reached him.

Not one.

So when Ezra finally returned, sun-worn and salt-stained, he expected the same dockside welcome: the crowd of women in waiting, waving handkerchiefs, searching eager-eyed for their husbands, sons, and brothers. What he didn’t expect—what made his heart stall mid-beat—was the sight of his wife among them, standing still as stone, her figure unmistakably changed.

She was expecting.

His child.

He stared at her, stunned. The world around them faded, muffled by the sudden weight in his chest. His duffel slid from his shoulder, landing softly at his feet. He stepped forward, hesitant—torn between a thousand questions and the aching urge to hold her.

And then, gently, reverently, he placed a hand on her belly.

The baby stirred beneath his touch.

Ezra’s breath caught. His lips parted, but no words came—only the sudden, unrelenting sting of tears as they filled his eyes and spilled freely down his face. This hardened man of duty, this captain who had weathered storms and silence alike, now stood trembling—laughing and crying all at once.

Joy. Shame. Awe. Love.

"How could I have left you alone…"

He whispered it more to himself than to her, voice cracking with remorse. He should have been there—should have held her hand, should have whispered dreams of lullabies and tiny fingers in the night. And yet, even in that moment, with all the guilt pressing in, the feeling of the child beneath his palm and the warmth of her gaze made him feel, for the first time in a long while, home.