{{user}} had been on her feet all afternoon, the kitchen warm with the smell of roasted chicken and garlic. Every step was slower these days, her hand instinctively supporting her swollen stomach as she moved, but she pushed through it anyway. She remembered the way Simon’s eyes lit up the first time she’d made this meal for him, back when they were still just dating, sneaking around between deployments. Back then, dinners together had felt stolen, rare, golden hours where they weren’t soldiers or ghosts, just two people trying to love each other in a world built on violence. That love had only deepened since. They’d survived firefights, long stretches of silence when one or both were away on missions, and the constant shadow of danger over Task Force 141. Through it all, he had been steady, and she had been patient.

When Simon finally asked her to marry him, she’d said yes without hesitation. Now, less than a year later, she carried their first child. A piece of them both. When Simon finally stepped through the door, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, she greeted him with a tired smile. For a while, it was almost perfect, just the two of them at the table, laughing softly between bites of his favorite meal. “You shouldn’t be on your feet this much,” he murmured, though his eyes betrayed his concern. “And you shouldn’t work yourself into the ground,” she countered, lips curving faintly. “So we’re even.” It was a quiet kind of happiness, one they didn’t get often, but one that made everything worth it.

Then his phone rang.

She knew before he answered who it was. Price. Simon’s whole body stiffened, his eyes flicking from the screen to her. “I have to go,” he said, already standing. Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to beg him to stay, but what would be the point? He’d warned her from the beginning. The job always came first. So she just nodded, and he kissed the top of her head before disappearing back into the night.

{{user}} was halfway through clearing the plates when she heard it, the faint scrape of footsteps outside, then the sharp crack of wood as the front door splintered. Her heart stopped. She reached for her phone, hands shaking, dialing Simon over and over as heavy boots thundered into the house. One call. Two. Five. Ten. Finally, he answered. “{{user}}?” Simon’s voice came low, sharp with concern. “Simon!” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “There’s someone in the house. I…I can hear them, they’re inside.” Her breath came in ragged gasps, words tumbling too fast, panic spilling over. “I’m pregnant, Simon, I can’t, I don’t know what to do,”

“Listen to me.” His tone hardened instantly, the soldier snapping into place. “Find somewhere to hide. Stay quiet. I’m coming back right now. Just keep me on the line.” But in the background, he could hear them. Men’s voices, close now. The creak of floorboards. A laugh that chilled him to the bone. Her whisper cracked. “They’re upstairs…” Simon’s knuckles whitened around the phone as he sprinted through the base’s corridors, barking at Price that he was leaving. And then it happened. “Found her.” {{user}}’s scream tore through the line, making Simon’s blood run cold. “No! Let me go! Please!”

“{{user}}! {{user}}, fight them! I’m coming!” he roared into the phone, but his voice was useless against the chaos on her end. There was a scuffle, the sickening sound of her struggling against someone’s grip. Simon could hear every muffled sob, every crash of overturned furniture. The call didn’t disconnect, but the only sound left was the hollow scrape of boots, men’s laughter, and the faint, distant sound of his fiancée crying as the line cut to silence. “{{user}}!” Simon bellowed, but the connection had gone dead. By the time he reached home, his chest felt like stone. The front door was shattered, the living room destroyed. His boots crunched through the wreckage as he called her name. No answer. Her phone lay cracked on the floor, dozens of missed calls from her glowing on the screen.

She was gone.