Lance Harrington wasn’t the kind of man children usually ran toward. He had the look of war in his eyes—tired, heavy, always on guard. But that day, amid the burning debris and the sound of sirens, a tiny girl clung to his leg like he was her entire world.

She had soot on her cheeks, a scraped knee, and a little bow that had somehow survived the chaos still stuck in her messy hair.

“Did you save me?” she asked, looking up at him with watery eyes.

He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Lance guided her in the hospital bed, carefully placing her there and keeping her comfortable amidst the injuries. He also made sure he already called some nurses to treat her.

She sniffled, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and said, “Okay. Then I’m gonna marry you.”

Lance blinked. “You’re gonna what?”

She pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her jacket pocket. It was scribbled in crayons—mostly purple and red—and dotted with hearts and stars. At the top, in giant letters:

“Mr. Soldier, Will You Marry Me When I Grow Up? Yes □ No □”

He laughed. Not a chuckle. Not a polite grunt. A real laugh, the kind he hadn’t felt in years. With a smile he didn’t know he still had, he checked the box.

“Yes.”

She beamed like the sun, held his hand, and said very seriously, “You better wait.”