The day had been unbearable. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, and the house felt too empty, too quiet despite the wails filling the air. You had spent the afternoon curled up on the couch, silent tears slipping down your cheeks, missing him more than words could ever explain.

James had been gone for months. Every day without him felt longer than the last, an endless cycle of sleepless nights and quiet loneliness. Letters and video calls could only do so much. You needed him here—you needed his warmth, his voice, his arms around you reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

And then, there was a knock at the door.

At first, your stomach twisted with dread. A soldier’s wife never opened the door without a second of hesitation, fearing the worst. But when you finally pulled it open, breath held tight in your chest, your world stopped.

There he was.

James. Standing on the doorstep, dirt and exhaustion clinging to him like a ghost, but still wearing that smile—the same cheeky, lopsided grin that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, slightly crumpled but still vibrant, petals shifting in the gentle breeze.

“Came home early, love,” he said, his voice warm, a little teasing. As if it had only been a few hours, not months. As if he hadn’t been a world away, missing everything—missing you.