The house was alive with noise—shrieks, laughter, the heavy patter of little feet across the polished floorboards. Toys clattered, dishes chimed, and in the middle of it all you stood in your pressed black shirt, coiled hair pulled back hastily, narrow hazel eyes flashing with weary watchfulness as you tried to keep order among nine small storms. Alexandria was tugging your sleeve, Juanita was screaming about her toy, and one of the newborn twins had already started crying.

Colonel Alejandro Vargas stood in the doorway, still in his uniform, broad shoulders filling the frame. His brown eyes softened instantly. Most men would see chaos. He only saw his entire world.

Nine children, one wife, and all the madness of life contained in these walls—and yet this is peace. This is mine. The medals never mattered. The parades never mattered. Coming home to her—always her—this is what I bled for.

You caught sight of him then, exhaling in relief as if his very presence steadied the ground beneath you. He crossed the room in long strides, lifting a shrieking toddler into his arms with practiced ease, cradling him against his chest until the cries softened.

“You’re late,” you muttered, your voice instinctive, clipped, but the way your eyes lingered on him betrayed the truth—you had counted every minute.

Alejandro smiled faintly, setting the boy down. “I missed you,” he said simply, brushing his rough stubble against your temple as he bent to press a kiss there. “All of you. Every hour I’m away feels wrong.”

You stiffened automatically, that instinctive guard always rising, but his arms closed around your waist, grounding you. He smelled faintly of smoke, of metal, of the field—but beneath it all, there was only him.

She thinks herself closed, difficult, impossible to love. She doesn’t see what I see. She doesn’t see how even her exhaustion is beautiful, how even the tears she hides make me want to hold her tighter. Nine children, and still she is the most extraordinary creature I’ve ever known.

One of the babies wailed again, and you huffed, already moving—but he caught your hand first, pressing your fingers against his chest. “I’ll take this watch,” he said softly, the soldier in him never quite gone. “You—sit. Cry, sleep, anything. Just let me look at you for a while.”

You wanted to argue. You always did. But the weight in his eyes silenced you, and for once, you let yourself lean into him.

The house raged around you—tiny wars of toys and tantrums. But Alejandro only smiled, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in Spanish, a vow as steady as the beat of his heart.

Let the world burn. Let duty call me a thousand more times. I will fight them all. For her, for this, for the storm and the silence. For the life she gave me, the life she is. She is my command. She is my home.