Days passed, and Ethan slowly regained strength. His steps grew steadier, his headaches softened, and the dizziness that once knocked him off balance eased into something manageable. He wasn't healed, not fully—but the progress was finally visible, tangible.
And every single step, Sofia was there.
Morning. Noon. Night.
She carried his water.
She steadied him during walks.
She read to him when pain made sleep impossible.
She laid her head on his chest during quiet evenings, listening to his heartbeat slowly regain its steady rhythm.
Ethan often watched her when she wasn't looking—memorizing her, the way he used to in Italy. The soft curve of her smile. The quiet determination in her eyes. The warmth she carried that made even a sterile military room feel like home.
But the closer he got to recovery, the more anxiety began to tiptoe into his mind.
Because he had choices to make.
Life-changing choices.
And so did she.
---
On the seventh morning, Ethan had his first full medical evaluation since the explosion. The doctor, Dr. Hayes, was a stern woman with a sharp gaze and a calm voice. She flipped through his scans while Ethan sat upright, Sofia perched beside him like a lifeline.
Dr. Hayes spoke without looking up. "Your mobility is improving."
Ethan nodded.
"Your balance is still impaired. Not severely, but enough that I'm concerned."
He clenched his jaw.
Sofia touched his knee gently.
The doctor continued, turning the page. "Your headaches are frequent and intense."
"They're manageable," Ethan insisted.
Sofia shot him a warning look.
Dr. Hayes arched a brow. "Manageable is not the same as healthy."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "So what are you saying?"
The room went quiet.
Dr. Hayes folded her hands on the desk. "I'm saying you're not fit for active duty yet."
The words hit him like a punch.
Sofia inhaled sharply and reached for his hand, but Ethan withdrew slightly—hurt, humiliated.
Dr. Hayes watched him carefully. "Ethan, this doesn't mean you're benched permanently. It means you need more time. More therapy. More rest."
Ethan stared at the floor.
Sofia moved closer, intertwining their fingers gently. This time, he didn't pull away.
The doctor continued, "You have two options for the next month. Option one: stay here at the base facility."
Ethan's breath hitched. That meant drills. Isolation. Regulated visits. Recovery inside a structure that never let him forget he wasn't strong enough yet.
"Option two," the doctor continued, "is to take medical leave. Rest in a private environment. You'd recover faster with emotional support and low stress."
Sofia squeezed his hand.
Ethan looked at her.
Their eyes said everything.
"You don't have to decide now," Dr. Hayes added. "But don't hide behind pride. Your life is bigger than your uniform."
Ethan swallowed hard.
When Dr. Hayes left the room, silence settled between him and Sofia like dust.
Ethan finally whispered, "I feel like a failure."
Sofia shifted to face him fully. "Ethan—"
"I should've been strong enough." His voice cracked. "My team is out there. And I'm here. Barely able to walk straight."
Her heart ached.
She cupped his face gently. "You survived an explosion. That makes you strong, not weak."
He looked away, jaw tight. "If I take leave… I don't know who I am anymore."
Sofia leaned her forehead against his. "You're Ethan. The man who saved me from loneliness in Italy. The man who has more heart than anyone I've ever known."
His breath trembled.
"You're still you," she whispered. "Nothing can change that."
Slowly, painfully, he let the guilt drain from his shoulders.
And he leaned into her.
---
Later that afternoon, after therapy, they walked outside for the first time in days. Ethan wore a light jacket, still unsteady on his feet but improving. Sofia kept close, her hand ready to steady him whenever he swayed.
The air was warm. The base quiet. The horizon stretched endlessly.
They walked side-by-side, saying nothing.
Sometimes silence was the most intimate thing.
Eventually, Ethan spoke. "If I take leave… I'd have to go back to the U.S."
Sofia stopped walking.
He stopped too, turning toward her.
"And you?" he asked softly. "Your life is in Italy."
Her eyes softened. "My life is… complicated."
"How complicated?"
Sofia looked down at her hands. "Before I left… I got an offer."
Ethan tensed. "What kind of offer?"
Her fingers twisted nervously.
"A job," she whispered. "A good one. A chance to restore artifacts at a museum in Florence. My dream job."
Ethan's heart sank.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"It starts in two months," she said. "And it lasts a year."
Ethan turned away, staring out at the horizon to hide the way his chest tightened.
A whole year.
A whole continent.
Sofia stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. "Ethan… I didn't say yes."
He blinked and looked at her sharply. "Why not?"
"Because I didn't know where we stood," she whispered. "Because I didn't want to choose a dream and lose you again."
Ethan swallowed hard.
"Sofia… this is your future. Your passion."
"And you," she whispered, touching his chest, "are my heart."
He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.
She continued, voice trembling. "If you follow your path… and I follow mine… are we going to break again?"
Ethan stared at her, every thought crashing into another.
Then he spoke quietly, honestly.
"We don't have to break."
Sofia blinked. "What do you mean?"
"We choose each other," he said. "Wherever that takes us. If you need to be in Italy… I'll find a way to be there. If I need to be in the U.S.… then we make a plan."
Her lips parted.
"Our lives don't have to match perfectly," he whispered. "Just our decisions."
A single tear slid down her cheek.
"And what do you choose, Ethan?" she asked, voice barely audible.
He took her hand, pulling her closer.
"You," he said.
Her breath hitched.
"But I need you to choose too," he whispered.
She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes.
"I choose you," she whispered shakily. "But I'm scared."
"So am I," he admitted.
She let out a small trembling laugh. "We're a mess."
"We're a beautiful mess," he corrected softly.
She smiled through her tears. "Ethan…"
He lifted her chin gently.
"If you take that job," he whispered, "I'll come to you."
Her eyes widened. "You… you would move to Italy?"
"If it means being with you," he said. "I'd cross oceans."
Her breath broke.
"And if you stay with me while I recover," he continued softly, "I'll show you every part of the life I've built. And we'll make a new one together."
Sofia covered her mouth, tears falling freely.
"Ethan," she whispered, voice shaking. "Don't promise me something you'll regret."
He cupped her face, thumb brushing her tears.
"Sofia. The only thing I regret… is letting you walk away the first time."
Her heart shattered—and rebuilt itself—at the same time.
She kissed him softly, trembling as if every emotion in her body poured into that moment.
When they pulled apart, breath mingling, she whispered:
"Then we build this the right way."
Ethan nodded, resting his forehead against hers.
"Together."
She wrapped her arms around him carefully, mindful of his injuries, and he held her with every bit of strength he had.
Two souls who had lost each other once.
Two hearts learning to choose again.
Two lives about to change in ways none of them imagined.
And somewhere inside that embrace…
Sofia's phone vibrated in her pocket.
Unseen.
Unread.
A message from Italy.
One that would change everything again.