The cabin was just as you remembered—nestled deep in the woods, far from the world and its noise. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and earth, and the only sounds were the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird. You stood on the porch, feeling the weight of the pistol in your hand, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun.

John watched you with that familiar, steady gaze, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ready, love?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. It wasn’t fear you felt, but a strange mix of anticipation and focus. You’d asked him for this, after all—a crash course in self-defense. You knew what his job entailed, knew the dangers that came with it, and while you were content to let him handle the worst of it, there was a part of you that wanted to be prepared. Just in case.

“Remember, it’s all about control,” John said, stepping closer. He positioned himself behind you, his arms gently guiding yours as he helped you aim. His presence was reassuring, his breath warm against your ear. “Take your time. Focus on your target.”

You exhaled slowly, your finger tightening on the trigger. The world seemed to narrow down to the target in front of you, a simple silhouette painted on a makeshift board. And then, in a single moment, you pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the forest, startling a flock of birds from the trees. You felt the recoil jolt through you, but John’s steady hands kept you grounded.

“Not bad,” he murmured, a hint of pride in his voice. “A bit off-center, but we’ll work on that.”

You turned to look at him, catching the rare softness in his blue eyes. This was your John—not the battle-hardened soldier, but the man who came home to you, who held you close at night, who had made this life with you.