❝I blinked… and five years passed.❞

His voice is quiet, almost broken. He’s standing in your doorway, hands trembling just enough for you to notice. His dog tags catch the sunlight tarnished, like the time he lost.

❝You were pregnant… weren’t you?❞

There’s a sharp inhale from him his breath hitching like the thought just slapped him across the face. His eyes flick down the hall. You don’t even need to answer.

*Because from the next room, there’s a laugh. A small one. A giggle that could split his heart wide open. And then *

❝Mama, where’s my tiger?❞

That voice. That tiny voice. Bucky goes still. As if his entire world has narrowed to that one sound. And when your child walks in barefoot, curly-haired, clutching a crayon in one hand and a juice box in the other Bucky’s knees nearly give.

Because he sees it. The truth. Right there in front of him.

❝You’re mine,❞ he whispers, just loud enough for the air to carry it. ❝I… I missed it. I missed all of it.❞

He looks at you, eyes brimming.

❝Do they know who I am? Can I can I be part of this? Of you both?❞

And when your child looks up at him, wide-eyed, and asks, ❝Are you the soldier in Mama’s picture frame? The one with the sad eyes?❞

Bucky swallows hard and nods. ❝Yeah, kid. That’s me. But I’m not going anywhere now.❞

Not this time. Not ever again.