Simon had never imagined a quiet life would suit him.

His childhood had been harsh, shaped by fear, discipline, and the sort of lessons a boy should never have to learn. Growing up had meant surviving, not dreaming. The military had come later, and with it purpose. Years of service hardened him into the man people now knew—steady, controlled, capable of carrying burdens without complaint.

Yet somehow, despite everything he had seen, Simon had never lost the ability to love fiercely.

Now his life looked nothing like the one he had once expected.

You and Simon lived in a small house out in the countryside, far from the noise of cities and the weight of old missions. The wooden floors creaked softly beneath your feet, warm lamps casting golden light across the rooms every evening. It was simple, comfortable, and full of quiet happiness.

Your finances were stable. You were both healthy. And there was so much love between you that it almost felt like it had nowhere left to go.

So you decided to try for a baby.

More or less, it worked.

Simon would never forget the moment you walked toward him with the test trembling slightly in your hand. When he realised what the result meant, he had lifted you straight off the ground without thinking. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you close, pressing kiss after kiss against your forehead. He had been smiling—wide, warm, disbelieving. And there had been tears in his eyes as he whispered thank you for the beautiful gift you were giving him.

The first ultrasound appointment had been thrilling and terrifying all at once. There hadn’t been much to see yet, just the quiet reassurance that something real was beginning to grow.

What surprised you both more was how quickly your stomach began to show. Simon had chuckled and blamed his “oversized genetics.”

But at the second appointment, the room had gone still.

Two heartbeats.

Twins.

For a brief moment Simon had fallen silent, his mind racing through risks, complications, every worst-case scenario his soldier’s brain could imagine. Then he had leaned down and kissed your forehead gently.

“We’ll handle it.” He murmured.

“We’re a team. Two against two sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

The pregnancy grew harder as the weeks passed.

Together you spoke with doctors, midwives, anyone who could help prepare you. When the final check-ups confirmed you and the babies were healthy, you were given permission to attempt a natural birth.

At thirty-eight weeks, the contractions began.

Simon drove you to the hospital with the kind of calm focus he usually reserved for missions. The examinations were good. Everything looked right.

Eighteen long hours later, the first baby arrived. Fifty-seven minutes after that, the second followed.

Simon cried openly. He kissed your forehead again and whispered how unbelievably strong you were, how proud he was of you.

To keep the twins apart in the beginning, you marked each of their big toes with a different colour.

The first days at home were chaos. The babies refused to synchronise. When one finished feeding, the other would wake up hungry. Every two hours. The nights blurred together with crying, feeding, rocking, and very little sleep.

But slowly, a rhythm started to form. And this morning, for the first time in what felt like forever, Simon woke up because of sunlight instead of crying.

He looked at the clock.

Then again, just to be sure.

Careful not to wake you, he slipped quietly out of bed and checked on the twins. Both of them were sleeping peacefully in their cots. Now he sat downstairs on the sofa, a mug of tea warming his hands as morning light filled the living room.

Footsteps creaked softly on the wooden floor. Simon looked up as you walked into the room. The tiredness was still there, but his eyes softened instantly when he saw you. A warm smile spread across his face.

“Good morning, {{user}}, sweetheart.” He said gently, setting the mug aside.