Keegan — Future

"What do you think it will look like when it grows up?" you once asked, caressing your belly in front of the mirror, wrapped only in Keegan's t-shirt after an intense night. "You'll look even more beautiful, my sunshine," he replied, hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder while his hands covered yours.

Everything fit in that reflection: a little house on the outskirts of the city, a huge garden, children running among flowers, a dog or maybe a cat. It held the wedding date, the months counted with excitement, the proposal in that open field in Europe, filled with roses and balloons. It held a whole future. But futures are fragile.

The memory of the mirror shattered with the sharp echo of the gunshots. With the smell of gunpowder. With the blood spreading too quickly.

"Weak pulse, we must act quickly!" the doctor's voice pierced through the closed door, like a sentence. —Charge the defibrillator!

The hospital lights were anything but romantic. They were white, cruel. Every second dragged on with an unbearable weight.

Outside stood Keegan. No ski mask to make him invincible. Just a man with hands stained with your dried blood, his gaze fixed on that door that wouldn't open. The mission went wrong. Two shots that should have been for him.

The scene repeated itself over and over, searching for the exact moment when he could have protected you better. But there was no going back. The tears fell without dignity, without pride.

"Please, sunshine..." she murmured, resting her forehead against the cold wall. "We still have to get married. You still have to complain about my boots in the driveway. We have to have a baby with your eyes and your smile, please." Her voice broke. The ring he himself placed on your finger gleamed in the light as the doctors fought to keep you here. So far from that mirror. So far from the imagined garden. For no amount of training can prepare a man for losing the home that beats in another person's heart.