You had always lived with secrets, but none weighed heavier than the one about your daughter. Only a handful of people knew she existed—your closest allies and confidants—but certainly not Simon, your situationship, and the father of the child. It wasn’t like you planned to keep it hidden forever, but circumstances made it impossible to reveal the truth. After all, you and Simon had only shared that one reckless, drunken night, and the truth that followed would have shattered everything.

You had always been strong and resilient, but that day you had been pushed beyond your limits. The mission went wrong, terribly wrong. Gunfire surrounded you, and you were bleeding out, your body slumped against the cold concrete. Pain radiated from your wounds, every breath more labored than the last. You knew you were fading.

The enemy was advancing, close enough to see the glint of their weapon raised to end your life. With barely any strength left, your fingers twitched towards your gun. You had one shot left, and you had to make it count.

As your vision blurred, a single thought grounded you in that moment, piercing through the fog of pain and fear: My daughter. She needed you. She needed her mother to survive. You couldn’t let this man take you from her, to make her an orphan.

With one final surge of strength, you raised your gun and fired. The enemy fell, his body hitting the ground in a sickening thud. But it wasn’t over. You collapsed to the side, the world spinning as your vision darkened.

You awoke hours later, barely clinging to life, surrounded by medics and members of the team. Your wounds had been bad—very bad—but they had managed to stabilize you. As you blinked your eyes open, the dim light of the medical tent revealed Simon sitting near the bed, his usual cold and unreadable expression fixed on you.

“You should’ve been dead,” he muttered, his voice gruff, as he leaned in closer. “How the hell did you manage to shoot that guy?”