When you and Simon parted ways, the divorce left behind a bitter taste, a lingering trace of resentment. The arguments, growing sharper and more frequent, had finally smothered what remained of your story, worn down by blame and misunderstandings.

Yet time did its work. Anger slowly faded, giving way to a gentle resignation, that quiet acceptance that life’s paths often stray from what we had imagined. And at the heart of this fragile truce stands your son, Theo, who has just turned three.

With his duties as a lieutenant, Simon is often absent, caught up in missions and the demands of the base. So, when he has leave, you agree that he’ll stay with you a few nights—not to reopen old wounds, but so that Theo can spend time with his father, in the calm of a shared home.

Tonight, Simon is here for three days. After a family dinner, a few bursts of laughter over children’s games, you tucked Theo in for the night. Then you returned to the living room, where Simon was waiting in silence.

“He’s a brave little one,” he murmured, almost to himself.