John Price

You're his wife. You're 19, and your life with him has always been too mature for your age: military bases, rare trips home, constant waiting, and a man so much older than you that he sometimes seems unattainable.

Price is a captain accustomed to control, discipline, and keeping one's feelings under wraps. He knows how to lead a squad, but he doesn't always understand how to be a simple husband.

You find out you're pregnant.

But you don't tell him.

First, out of fear—because he lives in a world where any weakness becomes a target. Then, out of doubt—because I'm unsure how he'll react. And finally, because he's leaving for another operation, and the moment is once again "not right. "

You start to hide it.

It's easy at first: looser clothes, more careful habits, more evasive answers. Then it gets harder—when he starts noticing changes. Price senses that something is wrong.

He's become too experienced to not notice the little things: how you avoid certain conversations, how you go into another room when you're feeling down, how you hold your breath when he looks too closely.

• You're not telling me something, - he says one evening.

And there's no pressure in his voice. Just wariness.

You continue to remain silent.

But the tension between you is growing.

He becomes more attentive, almost suspicious. Not out of control, but out of fear of losing what has become more important to him than the war.

And you increasingly feel that it is becoming impossible to hide. The climax comes after a difficult return from the mission. Price comes home wounded, tired, angry. And at that moment he sees you—too pale, too quiet, too tense.

“Enough,” he says sharply. “You’re not okay. And you’re lying to me.”

The silence becomes too heavy. And the truth you've been hiding begins to come out.