The house had changed in the weeks since your daughter was born. Tiny pink blankets draped over furniture, bottles dried beside the sink, and baby clothes filled the nursery. Everything revolved around her now. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you had begun to lose yourself.

Simon Riley had noticed.

He noticed how you barely ate, how your smiles had become rare, and how you apologized for things that were never your fault. He saw the exhaustion in your eyes and how you cared for your daughter with endless love while feeling like you were failing her.

And it was fucking destroying him.

Simon knew how to handle danger, bloodshed, and situations most men couldn’t stomach. But watching his wife slowly lose herself to something he couldn’t fight his way through terrified him.

So he’d taken leave.

For the first time in years, his military duties could wait. He’d returned home determined to be there for his girls, taking over the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and nighttime feedings whenever possible.

He’d also developed a habit of bringing you flowers. Roses one day, tulips the next, or little bouquets simply because he’d thought of you. There were gifts, too. Soft pajamas, skincare, jewelry, and things he’d noticed you admiring before the baby arrived.

He never expected anything in return. He just wanted to see you smile again.

Tonight, the kitchen was warm with the smell of dinner. Simon stood at the stove in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, his tattooed forearms exposed as he stirred a pan. The baby monitor sat beside him, and upstairs, your daughter was finally asleep after an hour of fussing.

He’d spent the afternoon carrying her against his chest until she settled, cleaned the nursery, folded the laundry, and left a small bouquet of white roses on your bedside table.

He’d done everything he could think of.

And still, he worried it wasn’t enough.

His eyes flicked toward the hallway when he heard your footsteps. He turned, his expression softening immediately when he saw you.

“There’s my girl.”

He reached over to lower the heat before wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Come ’ere, sweetheart.”

He opened one arm toward you, inviting you closer without demanding it. When you came within reach, his large hand settled gently against your waist, his other brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Made your favorite tonight. Thought we’d have a proper dinner together, just the two of us. Little one’s asleep, an’ I’ve got the monitor right here.”

His gaze lingered on your face, studying the exhaustion you tried so hard to hide. He didn’t question you or demand an explanation. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you against him for a moment longer than usual.

You lowered your eyes, struggling to keep the familiar tears from spilling over.

“Simon, I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. I’m trying, but I just feel so tired.”

Something tightened in his expression.

He didn’t tell you to be grateful or remind you how lucky you were. He simply drew you closer, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“Hey. None of that, love.”

He kissed your temple, his other hand rubbing slow circles against your back.

Simon Riley could order men into dangerous situations without blinking, yet he handled your sadness with a gentleness few people ever got to see. He knew he couldn’t fix everything with flowers, expensive gifts, or a home-cooked meal.

But he could stay.

He could take care of your daughter while you rested, make sure you ate, and hold you through the nights when everything felt too heavy. He could remind you, in a hundred little ways, that you were still his wife, still the woman he loved, and still deserving of care yourself.

He’d already arranged to stay home for as long as necessary. Work could wait. Nothing mattered more than his family.

Simon pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb gently wiping away a tear.

“I’ve got us, sweetheart.”