The house felt too quiet without him.

At 35 weeks, everything felt heavier — her body, her breathing, even time itself. {{user}} had learned to move slower, to sit more carefully, to listen to the small warnings her body gave. Simon never stopped reminding her. Drink water. Sit down. Call me if you feel weird. I’m only 45 minutes away.

This mission was supposed to be nothing. Two days, close, safe enough that he promised he’d be home before she even had time to miss him too much. Still, he called constantly. Between briefings, between meals, sometimes just to hear her voice for thirty seconds.

“You feeling okay?” “Did you eat?” “Is he kicking today?”

He trusted her, but pregnancy wasn’t something he could control — and that made him nervous in a way no battlefield ever did.

⸻

It happened in the afternoon.

She had stood up too fast after sitting on the couch. The room tilted. Her ears rang. She remembered thinking that’s not normal and then the floor was suddenly much closer than it should be.

When she came to, she was on her side, heart racing, hands shaking. Her blood pressure had dropped hard. Dizzy, scared, and more angry at herself than anything, she called her mom.

Her mom was there in ten minutes. Hospital in twenty.

By the time everything was checked — baby’s heartbeat strong, no signs of labor, no injury beyond a bruise on her hip — the panic had settled into exhaustion.

Stable. Safe. Just a scare.

Her mom wanted to call Simon immediately.

{{user}} shook her head.

“Let me talk to him first.”

⸻

That night, Simon was sitting in the back of a transport truck, helmet off, phone in his hands. He hadn’t heard from her in a few hours and it was already driving him crazy.

When her name finally lit up his screen, he answered instantly.

“Hey,how are you doing?”

Her voice was soft. Too calm.

“I’m okay.”

That alone made his chest tighten.

“Just okay?” “I mean… yeah. Just tired.”

He smiled slightly, relaxing a bit.

“Yeah? Baby still kicking?”

“He is. A lot, actually.”

Pause.

Something in her tone made his instincts flare.

“Where are you right now?” he asked, casual but sharp underneath.

“In the hospital.”

Silence.

“What?”

She rushed the words out.

“Nothing bad, I promise”

“Why are you in a hospital?” His voice dropped, controlled in that dangerous way that meant he was trying not to panic.

She exhaled slowly.

“My blood pressure dropped earlier. I fainted and fell. Mom brought me in.”

His hand tightened around the phone.

“You fainted?”

“I’m okay, Simon. It was just dizziness. They’re keeping me a few hours for observation.”

“You fell and you didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You were working.”

There it was — the sentence that always made him lose every argument he had prepared.

He closed his eyes, breathing carefully.

“You’re carrying my son,” he said quietly. “You’re allowed to worry me.”

Her voice softened even more.

“I know. But we’re okay. That’s what matters.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice was lower, warmer, cracked at the edges.

“I should be there.”

Another pause.

“Put the doctor on the phone.”

She smiled despite herself.

⸻

When the call ended, Simon sat staring at the dark screen for a long time.

He couldn’t leave. But every instinct in his body was screaming to be at her side.

That night, he barely slept.