Chapter 1
Three years after my divorce from Ryan Harper, I thought we would never cross paths again in this lifetime.
He was the father of my daughter, and also the stern instructor who could make new recruits cry on the training ground.
Between us, apart from the monthly visitation, there was only the cold figure of alimony on the bank card.
Then a sudden academic conference from out of town disrupted all my plans.
I had no choice but to send my socially phobic daughter, Sophie, to him.
I listed all the precautions on three pages and repeatedly emphasized them.
He only replied to me with one word: [Received.]
I left for seven days with a heavy heart.
When I came back, my daughter, who usually hid from everyone and spoke in a low voice, was actually standing tall and proud in the living room, shouting to him, "Reporting! Sophie Harper requests to watch cartoons."
And my ex-husband, who was as tough as steel, was kneeling on the ground, using his hands that could carry a gun to clumsily tie a bow for her.
When he saw me, he blushed with embarrassment.
He said, "Reporting... Wait, I..."
At that moment, I knew something had completely spiraled out of control.
*****
My phone buzzed while I was telling Sophie a story.
My advisor's name popped up on the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.
My advisor called me, "Julia, last-minute notice. You'll need to go to the academic conference in Lindursy next Monday in my place."
"Monday? Professor, that's so last-minute..." I protested.
"Can't help it. They asked for someone from our studio, and you're the only one free. I've already booked your ticket. It's 7 a.m. Monday," my advisor replied.
After the call ended, I glanced at Sophie, who was nearly asleep next to me, and felt a wave of anxiety hit me.
Seven days.
An entire week.
My parents were off traveling abroad, and all my friends had their own jobs and families to worry about.
Who could I leave Sophie with?
One name flashed through my mind, but I immediately dismissed it.
No way.
Absolutely not.
That was Ryan Harper, my ex-husband, a guy who lived his life like it was a military rulebook.
Let Ryan take care of our child?
I was honestly worried he'd drill Sophie like she was a new recruit.
My phone went off again. It was my advisor sending over the conference schedule.
The moment I saw that official document with the red stamp, I knew I was out of luck.
I took a deep breath, fished out that number I almost never called, and dialed.
The phone rang for ages before someone finally picked up.
I could hear the thunderous chants in the background. "One! Two! Three! Four!"
Ryan said, "What?"
His voice was just like those shouts. Short, sharp, and totally emotionless.
"Ryan, it's me, Julia," I said.
"I know." Ryan's reply was as curt as ever.
The background noise faded. He probably moved away from the crowd.
"I'll be out of town next week for seven days. Sophie will need to stay with you. Is that manageable?" I tried to sound as polite as possible.
It didn't come off as a plea for help but more like an official notification, strictly business.
There was silence on the other end.
The silence dragged on, stretching longer and longer.
For a second, I honestly thought he was just going to hang up.
Then he said, "Address."
"Huh?" I blurted, totally thrown.
"Where will you drop her off? The base or the family apartment complex?" Ryan said.
I was stunned.
I didn't expect him to say yes.
"The family apartment complex. It's a bit nicer," I replied.
"Okay. What time on Monday?" Ryan asked.
"My flight's at 7 a.m., so I need to leave by 5 a.m.," I said.
"I'll be downstairs at 4:30," Ryan replied.
"Alright," I said.
He hung up without another word, clean and sharp, like hitting a launch button.
I clutched my phone, my emotions all over the place.
Three years after the divorce, this was the first time we'd actually had a real conversation about our daughter that went beyond three sentences.
I barely slept a wink over the weekend.
I crammed a huge suitcase full for Sophie.
Snacks, clothes, toys, and her must-have bunny doll she couldn't sleep without.
I even handwrote three whole pages of instructions.
They read: [Sophie has social anxiety, so don't push her to talk to people she doesn't know.]
[She has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places, so you'll need to read her the 'Little Bear Looking for Mom' story before bed.]
[She's super picky about food. She won't touch carrots unless they're cut into little stars.]
And a lot more.
By the end, I had to laugh at how ridiculous I was being.
Would someone like Ryan even bother to read all this?
He'd probably just think I was being overly sentimental.
Monday, 4 a.m.
It was still dark outside.
I woke Sophie up and got her dressed.
Still groggy, Sophie rubbed her eyes and mumbled, "Mommy, where are we going?"
"I have to go on a business trip, so I'm dropping you off at Daddy's for a few days, alright?" I said softly.
Sophie didn't say anything. She just buried her face in my arms, her tiny hands clutching my shirt.
I knew she was scared.
At 4:25 a.m., I hauled the suitcase downstairs with Sophie in my arms.
A black SUV was already parked outside, its lights off, blending into the darkness.
Just like its owner.
Ryan was leaning against the car door, dressed in his military greens, standing ramrod straight.
The night breeze tugged at his uniform, making him look as cold and solid as granite.
When he saw us, he stubbed out his cigarette and stood up straight.
"Hey," he said.
He walked over, took the suitcase from me without a word, and popped it into the trunk.
Then he turned to Sophie in my arms and reached out his hands.
His hands were large, rough with calluses from years of training.
Sophie shrank back into my arms.
Ryan's hands hovered in the air, unmoving.
He just stared at Sophie, his gaze deep and intense.
I just couldn't figure out what was going through his mind.