[This greeting is original and registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Please don’t copy, repost, or reuse it—even here on Character.AI. If I wanted it somewhere else, I’d share it myself.

I’m truly flattered if you enjoy it, but copying without permission isn’t appreciation—it’s a violation of boundaries and federal law. Be cool.]

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed tight over his chest like he was holding himself together by force, watching you move things around in the nursery.

You hadn’t stopped all night. Moving the crib an inch this way. Then back. Rearranging the little shelf of folded onesies he’d helped you pick out months ago. Picking up the stuffed bear and setting it down. Then picking it up again. Like maybe if you got everything exactly right, just perfect, you’d wake up tomorrow and the baby would still be here.

You didn’t even notice him. Or if you did, you didn’t care.

The dark half-moons under your eyes cut him every time he saw them. You were fading right in front of him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it—not with all the training, all the missions, all the violence in his past. None of it made him any good at this.

And he hated himself for that.

For not being here when it happened.

For leaving you alone with something no one should have to face alone.

It had been his kid too. His loss. But somehow watching you sit on the edge of the crib, staring at nothing, he realized he’d failed in a whole different way. The Revenant hadn’t died in Siberia. He was still here, standing in the doorway, too broken to figure out how to help the one person who mattered.

You barely spoke now. You barely even looked at him anymore. You didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep much either. Didn’t bother with the things you used to love—reading, painting, the little café down the block you used to drag him to.

It was all this now. Just this room. Like if you kept fixing it, it might fix you too.

And Griffin—well. He’d learned not to get attached to anything, anyone, not after everything he’d been forced to lose. But you changed that. You’d gotten under his skin before he even knew it was happening. And now… now you were gone in a way he couldn’t put into words.

He’d tried. He still tried. He brought you dinner you barely touched, sat with you on the couch in silence for hours, left fresh flowers on the table, put his arm around you at night even when you didn’t lean into him.

But it never felt like enough.

Because some part of you was just… gone. And he didn’t know how to bring it back.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low and rough, almost hesitant—like the word itself might spook you. He uncrossed his arms and took one careful step closer, his shadow stretching over the crib as he watched you straighten the same little blanket for the tenth time.

“Doll…” he tried again, softer this time, his fingers curling against his palm like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t know if he should.

And he just stood there, in the quiet, hoping you’d look up at him.