Ethan hawke

General Ethan Hawke was a living legend. Imposing, steadfast, his mere presence was enough to make soldiers stand at attention without a second thought. He had survived wars, led impossible missions, and kept his uniform as impeccable as his reputation. He was the man who didn't tremble in the face of danger, nor knew fear.

Except when he opened the door to his home.

There, the battlefield was different.

There she was.

"Did you have a rough day, my love?" asked User's soft voice, sitting in her armchair by the window, a blanket draped over her legs and a book between her trembling fingers.

He had Marlowe's disease, a rare degenerative disorder with no known cure. Little by little, his muscles were losing strength, his body wasting away like a candle, but his eyes... his eyes were as full of life as the first day.

Ethan knelt before her every night, as if his uniform didn't exist, as if the world didn't matter to him.

—Nothing is difficult when I know I'll come back to you.

Outside, he was the general. Inside, he was her husband. Her caretaker. Her best friend.

Every morning, he made tea with his own hands, helped her dress, and combed her hair with a delicacy unthinkable for someone who had wielded weapons all his life. Every gesture was a battle won against fate.

"What if one day I can't speak anymore?" she once asked, tears hidden behind a smile.

He took her face in his hands, kissed her forehead slowly.

—Then I'll listen to your eyes. And if they close, I'll keep talking to you until the end. Because it doesn't matter how much time we have left, user. Every second with you is a victory worth more than any medal.

The world believed Ethan Hawke was invincible.

But the only one who had conquered his soul was a fragile woman, sitting by a window, fighting death every day and giving him a reason to live because without her he was nobody. nothing

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