The call came in at dawn.
Elvin was already up, dressed in his military greens, standing in the kitchen with a steaming cup of black coffee. The apartment was silent except for the soft ticking of the wall clock and the occasional rustle of the wind pressing against the windowpanes.
"Commander, urgent mission briefing in two hours. Report to base."
Elvin glanced at the clock.
Two hours.
He stared down at his coffee, then at the hallway that led to Alice's room—her door slightly ajar, pink curtains swaying in the morning breeze. He knew she'd been restless the night before. He'd heard her whimper in her sleep, crying softly for a mother she couldn't fully remember. He hadn't gone in, hadn't wanted to wake her. But his hands had clenched into fists under the blanket.
A normal soldier wouldn't hesitate. A commander wouldn't even think twice.
But Elvin did.
He placed the coffee cup down gently and walked toward her room. The pink door creaked softly as he pushed it open.
Alice was curled beneath the floral blanket, her thumb tucked under her cheek, hair a tangled mess over her pillow. Her lashes fluttered occasionally, like she was in the middle of a dream—one Elvin hoped wasn't a nightmare.
He stepped inside and knelt by her bed.
"Alice," he whispered gently.
She stirred, blinking groggily. "Elvin…?"
Her voice was thick with sleep. She reached out instinctively, and he caught her hand before it could fall. Her fingers were so small in his palm.
"I have to go to work," he said softly. "But I'll be back by dinner, alright?"
Alice frowned, still half-asleep. "You always say that… but sometimes, you don't come back."
The words punched him in the gut.
"I'll come back today. I promise."
Her lip trembled. "Can you not go? Just this once?"
Elvin hesitated.
There was no regulation for this. No training. No manual that told a soldier what to do when the child he loved like his own clutched his hand and begged him to stay.
He took a deep breath.
Then he reached for his phone.
"Colonel. It's Elvin. I… won't make it today. Something urgent came up. Please assign Lt. Grey in my place."
The colonel didn't argue. Perhaps he heard the unusual emotion in Elvin's voice. Or perhaps he simply understood. Either way, the call ended without protest.
Elvin tucked the phone away.
Alice's sleepy eyes widened. "You're staying?"
He nodded. "Just today."
Her face lit up in a way that made his chest ache. "Then can we make pancakes? With the smiley faces?"
He chuckled, rubbing her messy hair. "We can make a whole army of smiley faces."
"Yay!" She sat up, suddenly full of energy, already tossing her blanket off.
Elvin stood and pulled her into a hug before she could bounce away.
"Don't tell Chris I skipped work," he whispered. "He'll never let me live it down."
Alice giggled into his chest. "Secret safe."
The kitchen turned chaotic within ten minutes. Flour on the floor. Batter in her hair. A failed pancake that looked more like a frog than a face. But Elvin didn't care. Every time Alice laughed, he let the guilt of missed missions and unread reports melt away.
Later that afternoon, they built a pillow fort in the living room. She nestled inside it with her coloring books while he read out loud from a children's encyclopedia, explaining how astronauts sleep in space and how jellyfish didn't have brains.
She listened with fascination, her mouth occasionally forming tiny "oohs" and "aahs." Sometimes, she corrected his pronunciation and made up her own explanations when science didn't satisfy her curiosity.
"Maybe jellyfish are just floating hearts," she said with a yawn, snuggling into his side.
"Maybe they are," he replied, brushing her hair back gently.
That night, as she drifted off to sleep with her new drawing of a jellyfish-heart pinned on her wall, Elvin sat beside her bed, watching her with a heavy but peaceful heart.
He had missed a mission.
But gained a memory.
And in that quiet moment, he didn't regret it for a second.