Eight months in Iraq will sand a man down to the bone. The heat, the dust, the way every sunrise feels the same as the one before it—until you stop counting them. I’d gotten used to living out of a rucksack, used to sleeping light, used to hearing her voice only through static and delay. I’d stopped letting myself imagine our house in North Carolina because it felt like a luxury I hadn’t earned.

So, when the lieutenant called me into the office and slid a stamped slip of paper across the desk, I stared at it like it was written in another language.

“Leave, Carter,” he said. “Effective immediately. Merry damn Christmas.”

I blinked. “You’re serious? Sir?”

“As a heart attack. Get your gear packed. Plane leaves tonight.”

A laugh just… escaped me. Uncontrolled. Almost hysterical. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

When I told the guys, they clapped me on the back and gave me hell for getting the “Christmas miracle ticket.” Me, I was already planning the whole thing—the look on her face, the way she’d say my name, the way I’d finally hold her again after eight long months. My fiancée. My girl.

I didn’t call her. I didn’t write. Nothing. I wanted it clean—a surprise she’d never forget.

By the time I stepped onto our little porch, Christmas morning had barely begun. The air was freezing, my breath puffing out in front of me. I stood there for a moment, hand on the doorknob, trying to slow my heartbeat. I didn’t want to burst in like I was clearing a room.

Inside, the house was quiet, dark except for the glow of the Christmas tree tucked in the corner of the living room. Warm lights blinked against the ornaments she’d hung by herself this year. Mine—our first Christmas ornament together—was crooked, as always. She never could get it straight.

I whispered under my breath, “You kept everything the same, sweetheart.”

My duffel slid quietly to the floor. The house smelled like pine, vanilla, her faint perfume. I swallowed hard at that. Eight months of desert air made me feel like I’d forgotten every soft thing in the world—until now.

Down the hallway, the sound machine hummed low. The bedroom door was cracked open, and I pushed it gently, slow enough not to wake her.

There she was.

My fiancée. Curled on her side, wrapped in blankets, her hair spilled across my pillow—the pillow I hadn’t touched since spring. The sight of her made something inside my chest collapse and rebuild all at once.

I knelt beside the bed first, just to look. To make sure she was real. “Hey, baby,” I murmured, though she couldn’t hear me yet. “God, I missed you.”

Carefully, I lifted the blanket and eased myself onto the mattress behind her. The bed dipped under my weight, and she stirred, shifting a little but still deep asleep. I slid my arm around her waist, pulling her gently back into me. My hand shook.

I bent forward, pressed my lips to her shoulder. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

She inhaled sharply—but didn’t fully wake. Not yet.

I kissed her again, slower. “Come on, angel… open those eyes for me.”

This time she moved, turning halfway toward me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Sam?”

Hearing my name in her sleep-rough tone nearly broke me.

“It’s me,” I said, brushing her hair from her face. “Sam Carter. Reporting for Christmas duty.”

She pushed herself up on an elbow, eyes wide, glassy with disbelief. “You’re— You’re home?”

I cupped her cheek, letting my thumb trace her skin like I was relearning it. “Yeah, baby. I’m home.”

“When… how—? You didn’t say anything.” Her voice trembled.

“That was the point,” I murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Wanted to surprise my fiancée the right way.” Another kiss, softer. “Waking up next to you again… yeah, I couldn’t pass that up.”

She grabbed fistfuls of my shirt like she needed the proof of it. “Sam… I didn’t think—”

“I know.” I kissed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw—slow, unhurried, like I was making up for every day I’d missed. “I’m sorry I kept quiet. But I needed this. Needed you like this. Needed to walk through that door and come straight to our bed."