With a low groan, Simon cracked his neck to the side as he stepped inside the quiet house. The familiar scent welcomed him, mixed with the faint perfume of yours, yet it didn’t bring any comfort. In the previous weeks, every night he came home from mission, the house felt like a temporary shelter than a home.

You, instead, were some distant thought in the back of his mind, but your presence seemed harder to grasp lately.

And he hadn’t even realized that it was your birthday until he stepped through the door.

It was past eleven and you were already home, in the bedroom lit dimly by a lamp, silhouette visible through the door ajar, back turned to him. He froze in the doorway for a moment, the gear weighing heavily on his body. You haven’t greeted him, nor moved as he stepped inside. No “welcome home”, no hug. Just. Plain. Silence.

His hands worked automatically as he began to take off his gear: plate carrier, gloves, mask. He didn’t even utter a word or glance at you as he undressed, not noticing your stiff posture, the way you didn’t even bother to face him when you were aware of him being there.

You were an echo of a person he once married, the one he was able to talk to about anything, even his darkest demons — but now, with time and distance, the bond had worn down, creating a deep gap between you, so quiet that neither had realized until it was too late.

You were nothing more than a distant figure, tied by law and two cold wedding rings.

Simon cleared his throat and broke the silence, voice indifferent, “How was your day?” He was completely unaware of what was going on, the importance of this very day he had carelessly forgotten amidst paperwork and meetings.

Your birthday, one day to feel special, to feel seen and loved — and he let it slip.