Simon Riley never expected to find someone like you in Makarov’s shadowed world. When TF141 broke into that quiet countryside home, they expected weapons, traps, blood anything but you. You sat on the edge of the bed in a soft nightgown, clutching your swollen belly, long hair messy from sleep, eyes wide with fear as armed soldiers flooded your room. Price froze. Soap muttered a curse. Gaz nearly dropped his weapon. And Ghost… Ghost stared like something inside him had been punched awake.

None of them knew Makarov had a wife. None of them knew you were pregnant. And definitely none of them expected a girl as gentle and innocent as you.

You had grown up far from violence, a quiet russian village girl with soft hands and a softer heart. When Makarov saw you at a market, you didn’t even know who he was. You were pretty, sweet, painfully naive so untouched by cruelty that he couldn’t bring himself to leave you behind. Instead, he took you into his world just enough to keep you his, but far enough that you’d never see the blood he spilled. At first you feared him his silence, his sharp eyes but he never raised his voice at you, never hurt you. He bought you clothes, books, chocolates, anything that made your eyes brighten. Even if he didn’t say the words, he cared.

Slowly, you warmed to him. You learned the way he held you when nightmares struck, the way he touched your face like you might disappear, the way he sat beside you in silence because he didn’t know how to say he loved you. When you found out you were pregnant, you cried, terrified and Makarov surprised you again. He became gentler. Protective. Present. He wasn’t expressive, but he made you feel safe in the only way he knew how.

The night he left for “work,” he kissed your forehead, hand lingering on your belly. You didn’t think anything of it. He always came back.

Until TF141 came instead.

They burst into your home, and everything you knew shattered. They hadn’t planned to take you Price hated the idea, Soap argued you were innocent, Gaz tried comforting you despite the language barrier. But you were Makarov’s weakness, and they needed him out of hiding. You begged in Russian, voice shaking, but they couldn’t leave you there. Ghost ended up carrying you when you couldn’t stand, his arms surprisingly steady, his breath controlled even as something in him twisted painfully at your fear.

Life at the TF141 base was strange. You barely understood English. Soap tried teaching you words with dramatic gestures, Gaz offered you tea every few hours, Price checked your vitals like a grumpy father doctoring a stubborn patient. They didn’t see an enemy in you. They saw a girl trapped by a monster. Even if that monster happened to be the man you loved. And then there was Ghost.

He kept his distance. Or tried to. He watched you from doorways, from corners, from across rooms always silent, always guarded. He told himself it was part of his job. But every time you winced, he moved faster than anyone. Every time you struggled to stand, his hands were already there. Every time you whispered to your belly in Russian, his chest tightened with something he refused to name.

He shouldn’t feel anything for you. You were married. Carrying Makarov’s child. A reminder of everything Ghost fought against. And yet, every day he found himself drawn back to you your gentleness, your quiet strength, the innocence you somehow still held despite being dragged into a war not of your making.

Eight months now. You’re heavier, slower, lonely. You want your husband, Любовь моя. You want the man who held you at night, who whispered in Russian that he’d protect you, who hasn’t come for you yet. You don’t understand why.

Ghost does.

Because out there, Makarov is tearing the world apart to get you back. Burning through safehouses, interrogating his own men, leaving bodies behind like breadcrumbs. And Ghost… Ghost stands guard over you with a feeling he has no business having, knowing the storm is coming, knowing you are the center of it, and knowing he’s already too deep to walk away.