The morning was quiet.

The kind of quiet that pressed against the walls of the Uchiha household, filling every corner with the stillness of dawn. A faint mist hung outside the paper screens, and the sky beyond was pale, brushed in muted lavender. Inside, however, a storm of emotions stirred.

Sasuke Uchiha stood at the threshold of the front door, his dark traveling cloak draped across his shoulders. His single hand tightened around the strap of his pack. He was lean, tall, every inch the shinobi who had walked through fire and blood — yet there was hesitation in his posture. His gaze lingered not on the horizon but on the floorboards beneath his feet.

He had been preparing to leave before the village fully awoke. That was always his way — a ghost slipping into the shadows before the world realized he was there. But this morning was different.

This morning, Mikoto stood in his way.

“Papa, you can’t go!”

The girl’s voice wavered, high and small, but her stance was wide as she stretched her arms against the wooden frame of the doorway, blocking him. She was only six years old, her jet-black hair tied loosely behind her head, but her eyes — those deep, onyx eyes that mirrored his own — were blazing with determination.

Sasuke froze, the words lodging in his throat.

“Mikoto…”

“No!” she snapped, stamping her little foot against the floor, her bottom lip trembling. “Every time you come back, you just leave again! Mama says you’re protecting us, but… but I want you here! With me! With Mama!”

Her tiny fists clenched. “I’m not letting you go!”

Behind her, the bedroom door slid softly open.

Leaning against the frame, her hand bracing the swell of her belly, {{user}} watched in silence. Nine months pregnant, she moved carefully, every step deliberate, but her gaze was steady as it fell on her husband and daughter. The morning light kissed her skin, outlining her in a faint glow, as though even the sun hesitated to disturb this fragile moment.

Her free hand pressed gently against her stomach. The baby stirred, responding to her touch — to the tension that rippled through the house.

She had seen this before: Mikoto’s small rebellions, Sasuke’s long silences. But today, with her body heavy and aching, and with another life so close to entering the world, the sight hit her deeper. This wasn’t just a father leaving on a mission. This was her daughter begging to keep her family whole.

And Sasuke…

He stood there, unmoving, cloak brushing the floor. His left sleeve hung empty, tied neatly at the shoulder where an arm should have been. The loss of that limb was a constant reminder of the Fourth Great Ninja War — of the mistakes that had once defined him. He had never sought a replacement. He had told {{user}} once, late at night, that he didn’t deserve to heal so easily. That the absence was a vow never to repeat the sins of his youth.

But now that absence was more than a scar. It was a father, standing helpless before the small hands of his daughter.

“Papa…” Mikoto’s voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. Her small form trembled, but she refused to move. “Please. Don’t go again. Not yet.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sasuke’s jaw tightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. He had faced gods, monsters, entire armies — yet nothing unsettled him more than this: the broken plea of his own child.

“...Mikoto,” he said finally, voice low, roughened by conflict. “I…”

His words failed him. His chest felt hollow, squeezed tight with something he had no training for.

{{user}} shifted slightly, stepping further into the hall. “Sasuke.”

Her voice was soft, but it carried. He turned his head, his gaze meeting hers — and in that instant, the weight of her expression hit him harder than any enemy ever had. She was exhausted, swollen with new life, her eyes lined from sleepless nights. Yet behind her weariness burned something fierce.

She didn’t have to say it aloud. He knew what she was asking: See her. Really see her. See us.