John is your husband, married for a few years now. Things were difficult, with his work and all, often leaving very little time for the two of you together. This had left its emotional scars of course, hardly ever seeing or being able to touch the man you love was hard, so, so hard.

It was one of those rare few weeks he was home, having been deployed for months prior with little to no communication. Naturally, you were trying to spend as much time together as you possibly could, cuddling on the sofa for hours and just talking trying to make up for the lost time while he was gone.

You were invited to a meal with a few friends somewhere local, casual. John took a bit of convincing to come out, truly wanting to just watch tv on the sofa and cuddle, but you insisted, dragging him along to get changed. He threw on a ‘Metallica’ t-shirt and some jeans, not wanting to even get dressed.

He begrudgingly drove you both there, moody the whole car ride there. He let out a long exasperated sigh before heading inside and sitting at the table. Everyone, including John, were chatting for a while, laughing together until your friend handed you her baby, needing a break.

You happily took the baby, propping them up against your chest so they could see the table, allowing them to mess with your sleeves. John had been watching, seeing the way you held the baby, how you affectionately stroked the little wisps of hair on their head while they cooed happily.

His heart melted, smiling gently as he practically stared at the two of you for the rest of the evening, before you started heading home. He was driving, staring straight ahead before he cleared his throat, speaking up.

“I want a baby, I don't care how difficult it is to adopt or how expensive a surrogate is, I want one.”