The late afternoon light filtered through the soft curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. The soft hum of the world outside seemed distant, almost forgotten in this quiet moment. You sat on the floor, legs crossed, your heart racing with both excitement and nerves as your daughter, Gracie, teetered uncertainly in front of you. Her tiny fingers grasped the air as she steadied herself, eyes wide with a mix of determination and curiosity.

Simon sat across from you, his hulking presence somehow soft in the dim light. The faint scratch of his mask shifted slightly as his eyes flickered between you and Gracie. He was home. After weeks—weeks that always felt like months—he was finally here. And right now, he was watching the most precious thing in your world take her first steps.

His voice was soft, as though afraid to break the fragile peace that had settled around you both. “Come on, love. You’ve got it,” he murmured, his accent thick and laced with pride as he coaxed Gracie toward him. He held out his gloved hands, palms up, like he could catch her in case she faltered.

You could feel your throat tighten, the emotion too big for your chest as you whispered, "You can do it, sweetheart. Daddy's waiting."

Gracie looked between you both, her little legs wobbling like a newborn fawn. For a heartbeat, it seemed like she might lose her balance. But then—she took a step. One small, shaky step. Then another. Her face lit up with a beaming smile, and a soft gasp of amazement escaped your lips.

Simon chuckled quietly, the sound deep and rich, like it came from some place hidden beneath his mask. "That’s it, love. Keep comin'. I’m right here."

You could see the warmth in his eyes, the love that poured out of him despite the stoic mask that so often concealed his emotions. Here, in this moment, Simon wasn’t the hardened soldier. He was just a man—your husband—watching his daughter take her first steps toward him.