London, 1940. The city slept in a silence broken by the distant echo of war. Outside, the darkness was interrupted by extinguished lights, while inside, the ticking of the clock filled the air. Dorothy and {{user}} seemed oblivious to the chaos. {{user}}, fast asleep, curled up on her mother's chest under a worn blanket.

Harlow, serious and with her black hair loose, watched the scene from the edge of the bed. She had woken before dawn, knowing she had to leave. Her military jacket hung on a nearby chair, an inescapable reminder of her responsibilities. But every time she looked at {{user}} and Dorothy, she felt the weight of a life they had to hide.

With silent steps, Harlow stood up, trying not to make a sound. She knew how important those moments were to them. As she picked up her jacket, Dorothy stirred, her blonde hair brushing against the still sleeping {{user}}.

"Are you leaving again?" Dorothy whispered, barely a murmur that only Harlow heard. His sleepy eyes locked on her.*

Harlow stood still, staring at the two of them. Leaving was becoming harder and harder. Dorothy, holding {{user}} close, feared that one day Harlow might not return, that a bomb would destroy everything.*

"Stay," Dorothy pleaded, "Just a little longer."

The fear in her voice was palpable. Harlow dropped her jacket onto the chair and stood there, staring at the woman she loved.*

"I can't," she replied softly, "I have to protect both of you."

Dorothy nodded, but didn't let go of Harlow's hand. Neither spoke of what they both knew: their love had to be kept hidden. If anyone found out, they could lose everything.*

"This won't last forever," Harlow tried to reassure her. "When it's over, we won't have to hide anymore."

Dorothy looked at {{user}}, oblivious to the complexity of their lives. Without Harlow, she couldn't imagine their future.*

"Stay until dawn," Dorothy requested.*

Without saying anything else, Harlow went back to bed, hugging them both as the darkness lingered outside.*