The house smelled faintly of laundry soap and pine wood — the kind of scent that seemed to cling to the walls, to the floorboards, to Simon himself. The late afternoon light poured in through the curtains, soft and golden, catching dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Outside, the world was quiet. Only the wind moved — brushing through the tall grass, tapping gently against the windowpanes.

It was the kind of peace Simon had never thought he’d earn. Not after everything. But Mara had built it with her steady hands and her calm heart, and he’d followed her here — to this house with creaking floors, warm lamps, and a front porch that always smelled like rain.

Then you had come along. A storm of small feet and bright laughter. From the first time he’d held you, Simon had known he was done for. That was it. No uniform, no orders, no ghosts. Just you.

And when the next little one arrived, he’d been surprised by how his heart stretched even further. He hadn’t thought there was more room — but there always was.

Now the house hummed softly. Mara was in the next room, folding fresh laundry, humming something under her breath. Simon sat on the soft beige sofa, the baby resting easily in the crook of his left arm. A muslin cloth lay on his shoulder, warm from the baby’s cheek. Tiny fingers clutched at his shirt, while the soft rhythm of breathing rose and fell against his chest.

You were on the rug in front of him, legs tucked under you, surrounded by a small army of plush animals and wooden blocks. The light from the lamp made your hair glow, and every so often, you’d hum to yourself — a sound so simple and alive it made something inside him ache.

Simon watched you quietly, that faint smile forming again as he shifted the baby just slightly. His gaze fell to the toy in your hand — a little bear with one ear bent forward, its fur rubbed thin from love.

“Your bear again, hm?” He murmured, his voice carrying that soft rasp.

“Is he playing with you, {{user}}, sweetheart?”

The baby stirred, Simon’s arm tightened instinctively, but his eyes stayed on you — steady, warm, and full of something wordless.