The house felt still in a way it hadn’t before. The warmth that usually filled the space you and Simon shared seemed to linger in the walls, but the looming reality of his deployment cast a long shadow over it. Two years of marriage had been steady and filled with quiet joy, but the past few months had held a different kind of excitement — the thought of starting a family together.

It had been Simon who first brought it up, tracing lazy circles over your hand as you lay together one night. “What if we try?” he’d said softly, his voice low but sincere. You had agreed without hesitation, imagining the little life you could create together.

But war doesn’t wait for plans like that.

The night before his deployment, you sat across from Simon in your bedroom, scissors in his hand. There wasn’t much to say — you’d both accepted that words wouldn’t soften the blow of his leaving. So, instead, he carefully gathered a small lock of your hair between his fingers, his touch lingering as he cut it.

You held out the silver locket he’d gotten you, opening it as he placed the strand inside with care. His fingers brushed over yours, holding the locket steady before snapping it shut.

“Your turn,” you whispered, taking the scissors from his hand.

Simon knelt in front of you as you carefully clipped a piece of his light brown hair, rolling it between your fingers before tucking it into the second locket.

As you fastened it around your neck, Simon pulled you in close, pressing his forehead gently against yours. His hand rested on the small of your back, as if grounding himself there, memorizing the feel of you in his arms.

“Don’t take it off,” he murmured, voice rough in his chest.