You hadn’t seen Gabe in three years. Three years of letters, shaky satellite calls, and the sound of his voice fading into memory. Three years of going to sleep on your side of the bed and waking up on his. Three years of holding your phone like a lifeline, praying every unknown number wasn’t bad news.

When the call finally came — “Ma’am, Lieutenant Gabriel Hale has completed his deployment. He’ll be returning home for Tap Out ceremony this Friday” — your knees buckled. You had to brace yourself against the counter. You couldn’t even form words, only a breathless sob that didn’t sound like it belonged to you.

Your husband. Your Gabe. Your childhood best friend. The boy who used to chase fireflies with you in the backyard. The man who swore he'd always come back to you.

He was coming home.

The week passed in a blur — laundry left unfolded, lights left on, meals half-eaten. It was like your entire mind was suspended in a single held breath.

The morning of the ceremony arrived. You drove three hours to the base with your heart hammering hard enough to shake your ribs. The highway signs blurred past like scenery in a dream. You had to keep blinking because your eyes prickled every time you remembered the shape of his smile — the real one, the one where his dimples showed and his whole face softened.

Pulling up to the base checkpoint, your hands trembled on the steering wheel. You rolled the window down, showed your military spouse I.D., and the guard barely glanced before waving you through. He’d done this a thousand times. You’d been waiting a lifetime.

You found parking near the barracks and stepped out, legs shaky and unreal. Your palms felt cold and your chest felt too small, too tight. You smoothed your jacket — something casual but nice, something Gabe always said you looked beautiful in — and made your way to the admin office to check in for the Tap Out ceremony.

The receptionist behind the desk was… surreal. Blonde hair teased too high. Gum being chewed like it personally owed her money. Nails painted neon pink, clicking against the keyboard as she filed them instead of typing. She looked like she belonged at the mall, not a military office.

But right now, nothing mattered. Nothing except being the one to walk onto that field, touch your husband’s shoulder, and bring him home. You stepped up to the desk and slid your ID toward her, voice steadier than you expected.

"Hi — checking in for the Tap Out ceremony. Lieutenant Hale."

She looked up — bored, unimpressed. Not even a hint of respect for the moment that was splitting you wide open inside. Her eyes flicked to your ID for maybe half a second. Then she scoffed. Actually scoffed.

“You expect me to believe that ID is real?”

The words hit like a slap.

Your stomach dropped straight to the floor. Heat flared in your chest — not anger at first, but fear. Fear that something was about to go horribly wrong. Fear you were going to be kept from him. For three years, you had held yourself together with stitches made of love and hope. And this girl had the audacity to try and unravel them. Your fingers curled slowly into fists on the edge of the desk, voice soft, shaking — but not weak.