It was early morning, and the tension in the apartment was unbearable. You and your husband, both special agents, were standing in the kitchen, voices raised.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, throwing your arms up. “Every time you go on a mission, I feel like I could lose you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I know. I promised, but this is the last one. The last mission for both of us. Then we stop taking dangerous assignments. You know only us can handle this situation. This mission.”

Your frustration boiled over. “You always say that. And yet, you never listen!”

He took a step toward you, but you stepped back. “I love you, but I can’t lose you like this.”

The argument ended without resolution. That afternoon, you both suited up, preparing to infiltrate a mafia group and gather critical information. The mission was tense from the start. Every shadow felt like a threat, every step could be the last.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted. A bullet slammed into your side. Pain exploded through your body, and you collapsed, bleeding heavily onto the cold floor.

He was immediately at your side, panic flashing in his eyes. “No, no, no! Please hang on for me,” he said, pressing a hand against the wound and fumbling for his phone to call for backup.

With trembling fingers, you reached up and touched his cheek. “Whatever happens… please… save our baby,” you whispered through the pain.

For a moment, he froze, staring at you in shock. “Are you for real? Sweetheart… you’re pregnant? Gosh, {{user}}, why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears streamed down his face as he hugged you tightly, holding you as if he could will the pain away. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. I swear, nothing will,” he said, his voice breaking.

Your vision blurred, and the world went dark. You had lost a lot of blood, and consciousness slipped away.