Few weeks passed.
A call came on a quiet morning.
Too quiet.
Xavier was tightening the strap on his boot when his phone vibrated—once, sharp and final. The number alone made his chest tighten.
Head Office.
He answered immediately.
"Hernandez," he said.
There was no greeting on the other end.
"You are to report for full military deployment," the voice said. "Effective immediately."
Xavier closed his eyes.
"How long?" he asked.
"A minimum of eighteen months. Possibly longer."
Silence stretched.
His gaze drifted to the small table across the room—the one Isabella sometimes leaned against when she visited, the chair Andrea liked to spin when he thought no one was watching.
"I'm currently assigned to guard duty," Xavier said carefully.
"You are released from that post," the voice replied. "Your presence is required elsewhere. You're needed."
Needed.
The word tasted bitter.
"Yes, sir," Xavier said at last.
The line went dead.
He didn't move for a long time.
Orders were orders.
They didn't care about fragile hearts, hospital corridors, or boys who had just learned to hope again.
They never had.
He packed his luggages, bid his colleagues.
General Alessandro watched, his heart unwilling to let him go, but then --- oders were oders.
Otilla watched with a grin. "Finally---" she laughed. "He's going" she said with a wide grin.
Xavier made it to the Rossi's Apartment.
Isabella was in the kitchen when he told her.
Lucia was resting. Andrea was at school.
The timing felt cruelly precise.
"They're sending me away," Xavier said quietly.
She froze, her back still turned.
"How far?" she asked.
"Far enough."
She nodded slowly, as if bracing herself against a wave she had always known would come.
"When?" she whispered.
"Tomorrow."
The cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.
Neither of them moved to clean it up.
"I knew this would happen," Isabella said finally, voice thin. "Every time things start to feel… normal."
Xavier stepped closer. "I didn't choose this."
"I know," she replied quickly. "I know you didn't."
That made it worse.
That evening, Andrea came home to find Xavier sitting with his schoolbooks spread across the table.
"You're early," Andrea said.
"I'm leaving," Xavier replied.
Andrea stopped.
"What?"
"For a while," Xavier added. "But I need you to promise me something."
Andrea's throat tightened. "Anything."
"Stay in school. Protect your family. Don't try to be the man of the house alone."
Andrea swallowed hard. "Who will help us?"
Xavier met his eyes.
"You will," he said. "And I'll still be here—just farther away."
That night, Xavier packed light.
Uniforms.
Letters he never sent.
A photo Andrea had drawn and never meant to give him.
He stood at the door of the Rossi apartment longer than necessary.
Isabella walked him down the stairs.
Neither spoke.
At the bottom, he finally turned to her.
"I don't know what will happen next," he said. "But nothing I've done for your family was a mistake."
She nodded, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
"You came into our lives," she said softly, "and made it survivable."
He wanted to say it then.
The words burned his tongue.
Instead, he reached out and rested his forehead briefly against hers—just once.
A moment.
A line neither of them crossed.
"Wait for me," he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"I already am."
Xavier walked away before she could see his resolve fracture.
And somewhere far above them, orders were being stamped, plans unfolding—
While two lives learned again what it meant to be separated by duty.