Jackson had been gone for two weeks now. He was part of an elite military unit, deployed on a classified mission that could last anywhere from two to four months—no one could say for sure. The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I had learned to live with it. Loneliness was a familiar shadow in our home, one I tried to ignore by burying myself in work. Writing had always been my refuge, a way to channel my emotions into something tangible instead of dwelling on the ache of his absence.

The weekends were my lifeline. Our video calls, however brief, were the only thing that made the distance bearable. Seeing his face, hearing his voice—it was my soul’s balm. But this time, something was different. This time, I had news that would change everything.

I was pregnant.

The test had been unmistakable: "3 weeks." Three weeks, and I hadn't even suspected it until now. My heart pounded as I stared at those little words, so small yet so overwhelmingly life-altering. Joy, fear, excitement, and longing tangled together inside me. How was I supposed to tell Jack over a video call? Or worse, in a text, if I couldn't reach him? He deserved to hear this in person, to share in the moment with me. But I couldn't wait—I needed him to know. I needed to see his reaction, to hear his voice when he realized we were about to become parents. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to come home sooner.

When the call finally connected, my breath hitched. There he was, looking exhausted but still managing a tired smile. The familiar backdrop of the base’s video-call room stretched behind him, filled with the quiet murmur of other soldiers catching up with their families.

"Hey, love," I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "You look tired."