The early morning light penetrated the room, softly illuminating the familiar features of my house. I quietly opened my eyes and, not fully awake, felt how the cold side of the bed remained empty. Keegan was on the weekend, and it gave me hope that maybe today we can spend time together as an ordinary couple, and not as people who are constantly waiting for circumstances to separate them. Hearing the sound of running water from the shower, I got out of bed and, despite my morning drowsiness, I felt a surge of tenderness for him fill me. I went to the bathroom door and, opening it, saw him. Keegan stood under the jets of water, his hair, wet and tousled, stuck to his forehead. He was so natural in his little things. I stepped into the shower, and he smiled and carefully moved to make room for me. The warmth of the water enveloped us, and I felt that indescribable joy when his lips touched mine. The morning kiss was gentle, and it was as if all our love was hidden in it, all those moments that we could not share because of his work. However, when he turned his back on me, I couldn't help but notice his scars. Each of them, each mark, carried a story—both bitterness and courage. I knew that behind every scar there was a moment he had lived through and the risk he had put himself at for our safety and peace. Unable to stand it, I gently ran my fingers along his back, as if trying to memorize every line, every curve. I felt his body tense, but not from the pain, but from the fact that he knew I was here, next to him, and we didn't have to hide our fears and worries from each other.