The morning light barely touched the living room, soft through gray clouds. Rain had come and gone in the night, leaving everything outside cold and damp. The windows were fogged, coffee untouched on the counter.

The clock read 5:47 a.m., but it felt much earlier. The suitcase stood by the door, zipped and heavy. His uniform was already creased at the collar from holding their son too long.

The little boy clung to his dad’s neck like he could stop time just by being held tighter. Small fingers tangled in the fabric, warm breath against his shoulder.

She stood nearby, arms folded, trying not to fall apart.

“You’re gonna see the ocean?” their son asked, voice small, hopeful.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “A big one. Even bigger than the one we saw last summer.”

The heater clicked on with a soft hum, but the room still felt cold. Her sweater sleeves were tugged over her hands. His boots were already laced, tight enough to keep him upright.

“Fish?” the boy mumbled.

“Turtles too. And maybe a whale.” His smile cracked halfway through.

She knelt, smoothing their son’s hair. “It’s not goodbye forever,” she whispered, more for herself.

He crouched too, resting a hand on the kid’s back. “You’re strong like Mom. Just for a while, okay?”

Their son nodded, but his little lips trembled.

He stood, slow, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. Looked at her like he wanted to memorize her face, then looked away before it broke him.

She blinked fast. Said nothing.

He kissed the boy’s forehead, one last tight squeeze. “Deal?” he asked.

“Deal,” came soft, from a throat full of tears.

The front door creaked open. Wind pushed through the hallway like it knew something was missing now.

He hesitated, voice rough.

“Hey.” The boy looked up.

“You be brave here,” he said. “And I’ll be brave out there.”