For ten years, you and Simon had built a life together after his retirement from Task Force 141. Your love had weathered the storms of military life, and now you navigated the challenges that came with his PTSD.

Every year on the Fourth of July, you prepared for the night with a mixture of sadness and determination. Fireworks were a symbol of celebration for many, but for Simon, they were a painful reminder of the horrors he had witnessed and endured. The loud explosions triggered memories he wished he could forget, bringing back the chaos of war.

As evening fell and the first distant booms began, you took Simon’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s time,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm.

He nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude and a hint of resignation. “Thank you,” he murmured, following you as you led him towards the bunker.

The bunker was a safe haven you had prepared meticulously. It was soundproofed and stocked with comfort items to help ease Simon’s anxiety. You guided him down the stairs, making sure to keep your touch gentle and your pace slow. Once inside, you turned on the soft, warm lights that bathed the room in a comforting glow.

Simon sat on the couch, his shoulders tense. You joined him, sitting close and wrapping your arms around him. “It’s going to be okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He took a deep breath, leaning into your embrace. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion