It had been a few years since you and Simon left the military behind, trading in the chaos of warzones for the quiet, messy beauty of family life.

Now, the two of you lay in bed, the early morning light soft through the curtains. Between you was your two-year-old son, Charlie, giggling as he tugged at the fingers of Simon’s gloves with determined little hands.

With an amused huff, Simon scooped Charlie up and gently plopped him onto your chest.

“Here,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling as he watched his son clamber over you, “go bother Mommy, you sticky little shit.”

Charlie squealed in delight, and Simon just grinned—content, for once, in the simplicity of now