the door opens slowly, the faint sound of it creaking echoing in the quiet hallway. simon stands in the doorway, holding amielle in his arms, her tiny hands clinging to his neck, a smile stretched across her face. it’s a smile that’s all hers, a burst of sunlight that manages to fill the space.

she wiggles in his grip, eager to be let down, and simon complies with a soft, wordless gesture, placing her on the ground. she darts into the apartment without a second glance, leaving the two of you alone.

the silence between you is familiar, the kind that’s settled over years of trying and failing to bridge the distance. there were good moments, moments where you thought maybe it could work. in the early days of your marriage, simon was everything—a quiet, protective presence, steadfast in his love. but the deployments, the endless absences, the weight of his work slowly pulling him away, bit by bit, until there was little left to cling to.

divorce wasn’t something either of you wanted, but it was something neither of you could avoid. co-parenting was your reality now, a silent agreement to put amielle first, even if it meant sacrificing parts of yourselves.

simon’s gaze meets yours for a fleeting moment, his eyes as they always are—intense, unreadable, and yet so familiar. his voice is low as he speaks, just a simple truth, no more, no less.

“she’s been askin’ about you all weekend,” simon says, his tone matter-of-fact, but soft. manchester accent thick now that he was off his deployment. “she missed ‘ya.”