Simon Riley - Sienna

You stood before the microphone, adjusting the stand with trembling hands as the sound engineer gave you the cue from behind the glass. A year had passed since Simon, his face hardened by discipline but his eyes heavy with sadness, told you it was best to stop.

"We can't ask Sienna to grow up in a suitcase or a barracks," he had told you that last night, caressing your face. You could only nod, keeping the name of that imaginary daughter to yourself.

Thousands of miles away, Lieutenant Simon was at a dusty base, cleaning his equipment by the light. A private switched on an old radio to fill the bunker's silence, and suddenly, a melody filled the air. Simon froze; he knew that tone, that voice.

—Silence... turn up the volume— Simon ordered in a voice that brooked no argument, your voice was beginning to tell the story of a girl who was never born.

You uttered the first verse, feeling as if you were speaking directly to him across time:

—Sienna, she would have looked just like you, it would have been nice...— you sang, letting the pain of the solo tour and the absence of her arms transform into music.

At the base, Simon closed his eyes, hiding his gaze behind the shadow of his cap as your words struck him with the force of an ambush. For a second, he was no longer a commanding officer, but the man who once dreamed of being a father by your side.