John had been fighting in Europe for fourteen months, one week, and four days — not that he was counting. You were. Every day that passed, every letter that arrived, you kept tally. Fourteen months was a long time to go without him.

You’d kept every letter, every scrap of his handwriting — the ink smudged, the corners worn soft from rereading. You’d hold your ring tight in your palm and whisper prayers that he’d come back whole. But even faith didn’t soften the ache of missing him.

And when the letters stopped for that month… you’d never felt fear like it.

The day you learned he’d been injured — a busted leg, a damaged wrist — you’d gone cold all over. But then he’d written again, saying he was being sent home to recover. You’d cried with relief, though a part of you hated yourself for being so happy about something that had caused him pain.

Now, standing at the docks, the wind tugging at your dress — the one he loved — you twisted the ring on your finger over and over. You’d been waiting for hours, scanning every ship that came in, heart in your throat.

Then, at last, his ship docked.

Soldiers began to disembark — some limping, some in wheelchairs, some carried by their mates. You searched every face, your breath shallow, until finally, at the back of the line, you saw him.

John Price.

He was thinner, older around the eyes, but still unmistakably him. A cast wrapped his leg from knee to ankle, a brace secured his wrist, and he leaned heavily on crutches as he stepped onto solid ground. For a moment, his gaze stayed on the boards beneath him — then he looked up and found you.

The smile that broke across his face was small but real — tired, aching, but genuine.

You didn’t think. You ran.

He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, your arms flung around his shoulders. He let out a grunt, nearly losing his balance, but his good arm came around your waist and held you tight.

“Easy, love,” he rasped, his voice rough from disuse but warm with laughter. “Bloody hell, you’ll have me flat on my back before I’ve even made it off the dock.”

His eyes were softer than you remembered, framed by new lines, carrying stories you weren’t sure you wanted to hear yet.

“Miss me?” he asked, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.