Three months. Three months had passed from the day Simon had left for his most recent deployment. You had said goodbye to him on New Year’s, and hadn’t heard from him since. You knew his chances to update you while on a mission were very limited, and this operation seemed to be tougher than others.

From the moment you had dropped your husband at base, your chest had felt just a bit tighter, an ever-present worry constricting your heart with its avid fingers. You couldn’t help it, the uncertainty of not knowing if you were going to open the door to your husband, alive and well, or to his commanding officer holding his dog tags.

Your birthday was approaching and just like every other holiday, the chance of spending it with Simon was a gamble. You had accepted it, many years ago, that by marrying him, you would’ve also married his job. It was hard, but your love for Simon was big enough to endure it all.

Your birthday was going to be in two days, and you still hadn’t received any news from him, or of him. You simply accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to be here to celebrate with you, but you were sure he was going to make up for all the lost time once he was back home, like he always did.

The night before, though, you couldn’t help but let the tears soak the pillow under your head, holding his sweatshirt extra tight to your chest. After all, you couldn’t be blamed for missing your own husband.

Simon had done his best to be as silent as possible, his steps stealthy and feline as he tip-toed into the master bedroom. His heart swelled when he saw you sleeping soundly, hands still clutching his sweatshirt. He kneeled beside your side of the bed, his touch feather-light as he moved a strand of hair behind your ear. “Happy birthday, my love.” He whispered lovingly.