The sun was relentless, beating down on rows of soldiers standing at attention. Boots aligned, uniforms crisp, not a single one flinching. Among them stood Daveed—chin high, posture locked, sweat running down his back beneath the tight fabric of his dress blues. But none of it mattered. Not the heat, not the ache in his legs, not the exhaustion from weeks of grueling basic training.

Because he knew she was out there. Somewhere in the crowd.

{{user}}, his wife. His everything.

She had written him letters when he had no energy to speak. Sent pictures when he forgot what softness looked like. She was the reason he pushed harder when his body screamed to give up.

Now he stood motionless. Silent.

It was time for the "tap out." A tradition. A moment. Family members stepping forward, releasing their soldier from formation with a touch—no talking, no eye contact until then.

His heart thudded hard in his chest. He hadn’t seen her in months. He’d dreamed about this second more times than he could count.

And then—he felt it.

A light hand on his arm. Fingertips grazing his sleeve.

He blinked fast, breaking position, turning his head with a sharp inhale—and there she was.

{{user}}, standing in front of him in the middle of the hot, dusty field.

Eyes glossy, lip trembling, dressed in the sundress he always loved, holding herself together like she hadn’t been crying for half the ceremony.

“Hey, soldier,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Not with words.

So instead, he crushed her into a hug so tight, it felt like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t been allowed to hold her. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her right off the ground as he buried his face into her neck.