The house was quiet, you stood in the doorway watching Simon with your ten month old son. Simon just got back from a two month long deployment a few days ago and you were happy he was back.

Simon’s back is to you, broad shoulders softened by the Christmas sweater you bought him. One of his arms cradling the baby against his chest and the other pointing to the tree.

“The one right here, mate,” he says, gesturing towards the ornament you both picked out together a few months ago. It was golden, a tiny bauble that said Baby’s First Christmas. The baby giggles, reaching for it with his little hands, his laugh coming out happily when Simon tilts it out of his reach like a game.

You can’t help but linger there and watch them, Simon’s mask gone and there’s nothing but adoration on his face. He gently takes the baby’s hand and guides it to the ornament. “See that? That’s yours, little one…” he murmurs, his voice dipping into that soft tone he uses only for the two of you.

This man has been through hell and back, but here he is, holding your son like he’s the most fragile and precious thing in the entire world.

As if sensing you, he glances over his shoulder. His hazel eyes meeting yours, the smile that spreads across his face always leaves you breathless. “Caught me, did you?” He said softly.