November 3, 2023,

There were no disturbances yesterday, outside of meal deliveries. I was going to spend the day sorting through the after-action reports, or rather, that is what I planned to do. In reality I was sitting at the edge of the bed at the desk bolted onto the wall, mindlessly shuffling through the increasingly creased set of papers in my hands. My eyes were seeing the words, my mind perceiving nothing. Haruna was sitting beside me, slumped against my shoulder, also staring blankly at the reports.

Lunch was delivered by Ooyodo. She tried to make some small talk at the door, mostly about how she and the party from my base that was attached out were doing, at the same time thanking me for the phone call. I played it cool, or at least tried to. I think that may have rubbed her the wrong way, or maybe this whole ordeal made me appear more haggard than I'd imagined, because she quickly excused herself and left.

I came back to find Haruna had started drawing something on one of the blank papers. I sat back down at the desk, choosing not to interfere. Her expression was blank, pencil strokes rough, but after a while it became clear what she was trying to sketch.

We had always talked about what we wanted to do after the war was over. The idea of just retiring to a private offshore island near the base and building our own cabin by the tropical beach was always toyed with. We would talk about the details, down to the engraving of the window stills, but we never actually took the idea seriously, given how unlikely we would just "get" an island after everything goes back to normal.

This time, however, we have every right to indulge ourselves in this fantasy. I picked up another pencil and wrapped my right hand around her so that we could both partake in illustrating our dream of our distant future. Together we drew in silence; I sketched in the details I remember; Haruna straightened lines and filled in curves. We did multiple sketches from different angles – a few with the cabin and landscaping, a view from the patio overlooking a beach and the sea, and even a sketch of the interior.

Hours ticked by, and we finally finished designing our home. By that point I think we had every detail that had cropped up in sweet nothings long past on paper, but there was still something that felt lacking. I looked through all the sketches we had and found the one of the patio. I took that one and started drawing on it furiously, the scratching of the pencil the only audible sound in the room.

I presented the completed work to Haruna. To the sketch I added the two of us in embrace, watching as the sun set over the beach. It was a gesture of what we had still had to look forward to, our future together. Haruna stared blankly at it for a moment. With a shaking hand she gingerly put a pencil on the paper and added 3 small figures on the beach, playing in the sand.

It hit me then. In the past we had never considered kids, mostly because it was believed to be impossible for Shipgirls to get pregnant. And yet we were proven tragically wrong. The loss of something once thought to be unobtainable – in the end, the outcome is the same, and yet the intangible potential and loss thereof is what is tormenting me.

And yet, that was our kid. For that moment, it was tangible; the potential became reality; it was a wish granted but tragically lost, and we have only ourselves to blame. I could feel my darling's anguish. It became my own, twisting the core of my being.

I must have started sobbing first, for the details of what happened next were fuzzy.

I awoke this morning, Haruna and I in a mutual embrace, this time with our clothes on. I am writing this now and breakfast should be brought here soon, as well as any urgent bulletins that require my attention. If the plan is to be followed, the fleet would be out of here in a few days.

For better or for worse, we will be going back to the real world soon.