The office building smelled of cold coffee and paper. Everything about it was sober, factual—just like Simon Riley. Thirty-eight years old, Lieutenant of Task Force 141. A man forged from discipline, violence, and silence. A man who had learned to treat emotions as weaknesses. You had married him believing that love could pierce even the hardest armor.

You were twenty-six, a doctor on the base. Hands that healed where others destroyed. A heart that helped without asking. Maybe that was why you had been so different. Maybe that was exactly what had torn you apart in the end.

You had been arguing for months. Words grew sharper, glances colder. Until nothing remained but exhaustion. Simon didn’t know how to fight when there was no weapon in his hand. Love was not an enemy you could eliminate. So he gave up.

You sat across from each other at a table. Lawyers to the left and right. The divorce papers between you—the end of two years of marriage, reduced to ink and signatures. Simon reached for the pen without hesitation. His handwriting was calm, precise. As if this were just another mission. He slid the papers over to you.

“You really want this?” Your voice trembled despite all your control. Simon didn’t look at you. He said nothing. Just a brief nod. So empty, as if you had never existed.

You knew from Soap that it was a lie. That since your separation Simon had been getting drunk every night, barely speaking, withdrawing from everyone. But he had never learned to show pain—only to endure it.

You signed. Every letter hurt. Then you stood up and left the room. Your lawyer would handle the rest.

Out in the hallway, you instinctively placed a hand on your stomach. A quiet protective reflex. Something small, fragile. Something that wanted to be loved. Your baby. You were fifteen weeks pregnant. You had stayed silent because you didn’t want a pregnancy to influence his decision. Love should be voluntary—not forced by a sense of duty.

A wave of nausea washed over you. You stopped, leaned against the cool wall, breathing slowly. In that moment, the door behind you opened.

Simon stepped out. His gaze locked onto you immediately. The mask slipped for a fraction of a second. Concern. Real. Unfiltered. He was at your side in two steps and instinctively placed his hand on your back.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked quietly, worried.

You look at him and take a step back, unsure whether you should tell him or not.