Rosie sat at the kitchen counter, mug of coffee sat next to him, staring down at his book—he was fighting off sleep, trying to wait until you got home. He knew it would be soon, but he also knew that three hours ago.

His eyes flickered to the clock, and he sighed. Deployments were always like this—when he would leave, and you’d be waiting, and vice versa. He closed the book, reaching for the mug.

The front door squeaked, and Rosie perked up—finally!