The dull roar of the crowd echoed across the field, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the track blending into the chatter of parents and students alike. You pushed forward, breath burning in your lungs as you neared the finish line, the anticipation of the race’s end nearly as thrilling as the idea of going home afterward—alone, again.

Your mother had been the one steady presence in this chaotic life. She had understood your father's job, the risks, the way he would disappear for months at a time. But when she passed away, everything fell apart.

Simon was forced to confront a reality he had never prepared for: raising a child alone.

At first, he thought about walking away. You deserved better than a father who barely knew how to function outside of warzones. But the thought of leaving you behind, letting you grow up without a parent, haunted him.

So, he put his career on hold. He stayed. He learned how to be a father—awkwardly, clumsily, but with all the determination of a soldier.

As you grew older, he returned to the field, taking missions that kept him away for months at a time. It was never easy—for either of you. But he called as often as he could, left you with enough money to get by, and made sure you knew he was coming home.

Suddenly, a unmistakable voice cut through the noise of your thoughts.

"Come on, kid! Move those legs!"

Your head snapped up, and for a moment, you almost stopped in your tracks.

There, standing among the other parents, was him.

Your father.

Simon stood at the edge of the field, unmistakable in his full tactical gear. The sight of him in his uniform, balaclava pushed up just enough to reveal the scarred skin of his jaw, was enough to make your stomach flip. He was supposed to be deployed. You hadn't expected to see him for another few months. And yet, there he was.

His arms were outstretched, ready, waiting. The same way he had when you were younger, when scraped knees and clumsy falls had been your biggest worries.

It was time to come home.

For the both of you.