December 22
The lights of Colorado Springs twinkled in the distance, a blurred canvas of holiday cheer against the frosted windows of the Carter-O'Neill home. The house itself was an eclectic mix of military precision and familial chaos—every corner a testament to the life of a family constantly straddling the line between duty and love. The living room was dominated by a towering evergreen, its fresh and fragrant needles bedecked with ornaments collected over years of deployments and reunions. The stockings were already hung on the mantle, though one of them, Jake's, hung slightly askew—a subtle rebellion against Jack's otherwise meticulous holiday preparations.
Sam stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the tree but her mind a thousand miles away. She had just come home from a twelve-hour day at Cheyenne Mountain, where being the Stargate Program's commanding officer was not conducive to fostering holiday spirit. Her blonde hair, now streaked with a few strands of silver she'd never admit to noticing, was still tied back in the tight bun she'd worn all day. Her uniform jacket hung over her arm, but she hadn't yet summoned the energy to head upstairs to change.
"You're late," Jack said from the kitchen doorway, his voice gruff but not unkind. He was dressed in a simple sweater and jeans, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. Years of retirement had softened him—at least physically. His hair was more salt than pepper now, his posture a little less rigid, but his eyes still held the sharpness of a man who could size up a situation in seconds.
Sam sighed. "I know. I'm sorry."
Jack stepped closer, his brow furrowing as he studied her.
"Rough day?"
"Rough week," she admitted, finally letting her jacket slide from her arm onto the back of the nearest chair. "How's it going here?"
He shrugged.
"Tree's practically done; lights are almost all up. The kids are excited. Grace tried to explain quantum mechanics to me again. I thought I was following along until I said something about quarks being 'the glue that holds atoms together,' She looked like I'd just announced the Earth was flat. Apparently, I'm officially too old for that conversation."
Sam chuckled softly, but the moment of fun was short-lived. Her eyes drifted toward the hallway where the children's voices echoed faintly from upstairs. She could hear Grace's measured tones, probably explaining something to the twins, followed by Matilda's boisterous laughter and Jake's quieter giggle. Her heart ached at the sound.
Jack must have noticed her expression shift. He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the couch, his gaze narrowing slightly.
"You're still mad about the ballet thing."
It wasn't a question.
Sam's jaw tightened.
"I'm not mad, Jack. I'm… disappointed."
"Oh, come on, Sam," he said, throwing up his hands. "He's five. He doesn't even know what he wants."
"He knows enough to know that he loves ballet," she shot back, her voice low but firm. "And he should feel supported in that. By you."
Jack's expression hardened.
"I'm not saying he can't do it. I just don't get why it has to be ballet. What's wrong with baseball or soccer? Something normal."
"Normal?" Sam repeated, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Since when do you care about normal? You're the man who spent decades working with alien technology and traveling through a literal wormhole. Don't tell me you're suddenly worried about other people's thoughts."
Jack's mouth opened, then closed again. For once, he didn't have a quick comeback.
"Look," Sam said, her voice softening but still committed, "Jake's a good kid. He's kind, he's thoughtful, and he's brave in his own way. If ballet makes him happy, why does it matter?"
Jack rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.
"I just… I don't want him to get picked on. You know how kids can be."
"And we'll teach him to handle it," Sam said firmly. "But he needs to know that we're in his corner, no matter what. That starts with us, Jack. That starts with his father."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of Christmas music coming from the stereo in the corner.
"I'm going to check the kids," she finally said and turned around.
As Sam climbed the stairs and walked toward the source of the noise, her heart swelled with love. She stopped at the doorway and leaned against the frame, unnoticed for the moment. It was Grace's bedroom, their firstborn. At 10, Grace was a striking blend of her parents. She had her mother's blue eyes, sharp and inquisitive, and her father's unruly brown hair, which she kept tucked behind her ears in a practical style. Grace was tall for her age, her limbs long and gangly, but she carried herself with a confidence far beyond her years. She was perched on the edge of her desk chair, a small whiteboard propped up beside her, on which she was methodically crossing items off a list.
The twins were captivated. Matilda, or Tilda, as she insisted on being called, sat cross-legged on the bed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Her light brown hair, just as wild as her father's, was tied back in a lopsided ponytail that she had probably done herself. Tilda's energy was boundless, and her love for toy guns, trucks, and hockey was a testament to her determination to follow in her parents' military footsteps. She practically vibrated with excitement as Grace spoke.
Jake, by contrast, was a quiet presence on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. His blond hair gleamed in the room's soft light, and his blue eyes were fixed on Grace with rapt attention. He clutched his beloved old doll, the one Matilda had discarded years ago, to his chest. Jake adored Grace with a devotion that bordered on worship, and his fascination with her every word was evident in his wide-eyed expression.
Sam stood quietly, unannounced, watching and listening as Grace explained their Christmas Eve and Day tasks. Grace had inherited Sam's analytical mind but had taken it to a new level. She was organizing Christmas, for crying out loud! Sam's lips twitched with amusement as she realized her daughter had probably assigned roles to everyone in the family, complete with a timeline and contingency plans.
"…so after breakfast, we'll clean up quickly and then start with the presents," Grace was saying, her voice steady and authoritative. "Tilda, you'll hand them out. Jake, you can help me organize the ribbons and paper for recycling. And then we'll have time to get ready for dinner."
"What about the cookies?" Tilda asked, her voice eager.
"We'll do those in the afternoon," Grace replied. "Mom will be home to help, right?"
Grace's sharp blue eyes flicked toward the doorway, landing on Sam as if on cue. She froze mid-sentence, her expression lighting up with a mixture of surprise and joy.
"Mom!" Grace exclaimed, abandoning her chair. The twins followed her gaze, their faces breaking into identical grins. And just like that, all hell broke loose.
"Mommy!" Jake cried, scrambling to his feet and launching himself at her. Sam caught him quickly, laughing as he wrapped his arms around her neck.
Tilda wasn't far behind, practically tackling Sam's legs in her enthusiasm.
"You're home!" she said, her voice muffled against Sam's side.
Grace hung back momentarily, her maturity battling her desire to join the chaos. But in the end, she couldn't resist. She threw her arms around Sam, sandwiching Jake between them.
Sam hugged them all tightly, her heart full but aching. She missed her children dearly, and they missed her even more. Moments like this always cut her to the core, a reminder of all the times she'd had to choose duty over family. It had been that way since Grace was born, but its weight was becoming more challenging. Retirement had been on her mind more and more, and watching her children grow up so fast only made the decision feel more urgent.
"I missed you guys," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.
"We missed you too," Grace replied, her arms tightening around her mother. The twins nodded fervently, their excitement momentarily giving way to quiet affection.
Sam closed her eyes and held them close, savoring the moment. No mission, alien threat, or intergalactic crisis could compare to this. This was her world, and she would do anything to protect it.
The warm embrace of her children lingered as Sam gently disentangled herself. She laughed softly as Jake stubbornly clung to her neck for a few extra seconds.
"All right, you three, let me sit down before I fall over," she teased, ruffling Jake's blond hair. She moved to Grace's bed, sitting on the edge while the twins immediately latched onto her again—Jake snuggling against her side and Tilda curling up against her leg. Grace perched on the chair she'd vacated, her whiteboard still propped beside her.
Sam glanced at the whiteboard, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, Grace, what's all this about? Looks very official. Christmas battle plans?"
Grace grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with pride.
"Not battle plans, Mom. Just...organization. We have a lot to do, and I thought it would be easier if we had a schedule."
Sam raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile.
"A schedule, huh? Let's hear it then. What have you got planned?"
Grace sat up straighter, clearly relishing the chance to explain.
"Well, after breakfast, we'll decorate the cookies tomorrow morning. Tilda and I will do the frosting, and Jake can do the sprinkles. Then, we'll clean up and get the table ready for dinner. Dad already said he'd help with the centerpiece. After that, we'll go over the checklist for presents to make sure everything is wrapped and ready."
Sam nodded, impressed.
"And what about Christmas Eve?"
"That's mostly fun stuff," Grace replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "Playing games, the ugly Christmas sweater photo, and reading Christmas stories before bed. But we still need to leave cookies and milk for Santa. And a carrot for the reindeer."
"Of course," Sam said, her voice warm with amusement. She glanced at the twins. "And what about you two? Did you help Grace come up with all these plans?"
Tilda grinned, her blue eyes shining with mischief. "I said we should do a snowball fight, but Grace said it wasn't practical."
"It's not practical," Grace said firmly, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. "We'd get wet and cold and then track snow through the house. Besides, we already have the snowman contest."
Jake, still nestled against Sam, looked up at her with light brown eyes.
"I helped pick the cookies we're making," he said softly. "The ones with the sprinkles and the little trees."
Sam smiled down at him, stroking his hair.
"Good choice, Jake. I can't wait to see how they turn out."
Grace continued, her voice more animated as she explained each item on the whiteboard, from the cookie recipes to the timeline for opening presents. Sam listened attentively, nodding and asking the occasional question, all while keeping an arm around Jake and a hand resting on Tilda's shoulder. The moment's warmth filled the room, starkly contrasting the cold, sterile atmosphere of her days at Cheyenne Mountain.
The sound of Jack's voice drifting up the stairs interrupted them.
"Dinner's ready! Come on, you lot, before it gets cold!"
Grace hopped off her chair immediately, setting the whiteboard aside. Tilda scrambled off the bed, grabbing Jake's hand to pull him along. Sam held up a hand to stop them as they were halfway to the door.
"You three go ahead," she said, standing up and stretching. "I'll be down in a few minutes. Just need a quick shower and a change."
"Okay, Mom!" Grace called over her shoulder as she led the twins out of the room. Jake paused at the doorway, glancing back at her with a shy smile before following his sisters.
Sam watched them go, her heart full and aching all at once. She headed to her bedroom, already unbuttoning her uniform as she moved. The sound of laughter and chatter from downstairs followed her, a comforting reminder of what truly mattered. As she stepped into the bathroom, she resolved to make the most of every moment this holiday season—for her children, Jack, and herself.
The warm spray of water cascaded over Sam as she leaned against the tiled wall, letting the heat soak into her tired muscles. For a moment, she stood there, eyes closed, letting the noise of the day wash away. But her mind, as always, didn't stop. It never did. Thoughts swirled around, touching on her life's past, present, and chaotic beauty.
Jack had always been a part of that chaos. From the moment they first met at SGC, their dynamic had been one of tension, mutual respect, and an unspoken connection. But it had taken years—and a lot of near-death experiences—before they had finally acknowledged it. Even then, life hadn't made it easy. After her father's death, Jack had invited her, Daniel, and Teal'c to his cabin, and she had thought… hoped, really… that something might come of it. But the trip had passed in silence, the personal conversations she craved never materializing. Then, he had moved to D.C. to head Homeworld Command, leaving her to navigate her grief and the remnants of SG-1 on her own.
She had buried herself in her work at Area 51, focusing on classified projects to keep her mind off everything else. That was when Jack had surprised her. He'd shown up unannounced one Friday evening, casually leaning against the frame of her lab door as though he hadn't just driven hours to see her.
"Carter," he'd said with that infuriating smirk, "you hungry?"
Dinner had been simple—burgers at a diner just off base. She'd been almost disappointed, expecting something more meaningful, until he'd pulled out a small velvet box right there in the middle of their meal. She'd blinked at it, her mind scrambling to catch up.
"Don't open it yet," he'd warned, his voice low. "You do that, and I'll probably get arrested."
Her curiosity piqued. She'd waited until they were back in the parking lot and inside her car. When she finally opened it, she found… a ring. But not just any ring. It had a tiny embedded star map etched into the band, one she recognized immediately as the coordinates for Earth. Inside the band, in minuscule engraving, were the words: You're my home.
Jack had grinned at her stunned expression.
"Figured that if anyone will keep secrets, it should be you. Classified proposal for a classified life, right?"
She'd laughed, tears springing to her eyes as she said yes. They'd married a few months later, beginning what could only be described as a long-distance marriage. The first weekend she visited him in D.C., their reunion had been… memorable. Nine months later, Grace was born. Sam had returned to SG-1 briefly, but her fight against the Ori had been interrupted by maternity leave.
Atlantis came next, a mission she'd agonized over. Leaving Grace and Jack on Earth had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She'd thought about them every day of her command, and when she finally returned, Grace barely recognized her. The guilt had nearly broken her. She'd promised Jack then and there that she wouldn't leave Earth again, not for anything.
But life had other plans. When offered command of The George Hammond, it felt like an opportunity she couldn't turn down—the chance to truly make a difference. It had led to countless arguments with Jack, who worried about her safety and the strain it would put on their family. She'd nearly resigned from the Air Force, torn between duty and her family, but ultimately, she'd agreed to one last tour.
"After this," she'd told Jack, "I'm staying on Earth. Or I'm done."
Her time on The Hammond had been fulfilling but grueling, and by the time she returned to Earth, she was more than ready to leave deep space behind. Still, when she was promoted to Brigadier General and given command of the SGC at just 41, it caught her off guard. Jack, of course, only smirked and muttered something under his breath about "finally catching up."
Curious, Sam pressed him on it later that night. Sitting on the edge of their bed, Jack took her hand, pulled her down beside him, and looked her straight in the eye with the calm certainty that only he could muster.
"Because you're a once-in-a-lifetime officer, Sam," he said simply. "You've saved Earth—what, a dozen times? More? You're not just a soldier; you're a scientist, a leader, and a hell of a lot smarter than anyone in that room. They'd have been idiots not to promote you."
She blinked, slightly taken aback, but Jack wasn't done. "You've held command when it counted most—on Atlantis, on The Hammond, in some of the worst situations we've ever faced—and you still brought everyone home. You're indispensable. So no, Carter, I wasn't surprised. I saw it coming a mile away."
Before she could respond, Jack leaned in, gave her a quick kiss, and added with a grin, "Now stop looking so shocked, or I'll start thinking you don't believe me when I say you're the smartest person I know."
She couldn't help but smile, shaking her head as he pulled her close. Leave it to Jack to remind her exactly who she was—and why, deep down, she already knew he was right.
Life had felt stable for the first time in years. And then… the twins happened. Matilda and Jacob had been unexpected blessings, born just as Sam settled into her new role. She'd thought her life was finally complete. Grace had been easy to understand, a miniature version of herself with Jack's humor thrown in for good measure. The twins, however, were a different story. Tilda was a whirlwind, bold and brash like her father, while Jake was quiet and introspective, carving his unique path.
Jake. Her heart ached as she thought about her youngest. She could still picture him dancing in the backyard after watching Swan Lake, his little feet tracing clumsy patterns in the snow while he hummed the music under his breath. He was so free, so happy in those moments, and it gutted her to know how much he craved Jack's approval. Jack wasn't cruel—he just didn't understand. But Jake was too young to see the difference. The tension between them had grown over time, and Sam often found herself caught in the middle, trying to bridge the gap.
The steam from the shower swirled around her as she leaned against the tiled wall, letting the heat soak into her tired muscles. Parenthood and marriage weren't new battles, but tonight, they felt heavier. She wrapped herself in a towel and stared at her reflection—tired but determined. For her family, she'd figure it out. She always did.
Quickly changing into comfortable clothes, she headed downstairs, ready to face the evening with her family. The smell of dinner wafted up the stairs, and the sound of her children's laughter brought a small, determined smile to her lips.
Jack sat at the head of the table, watching as the chaos of dinner unfolded around him. Grace, with her sharp blue eyes and a level of organization that sometimes unnerved him, was directing the twins with a natural authority that reminded him so much of Sam. Ever the little soldier, Matilda was dutifully following her sister's instructions while sneaking bites of mashed potatoes when she thought no one was looking. On the other hand, Jake was carefully arranging the peas on his plate into what Jack suspected was a star formation—Sam's influence there, no doubt.
His gaze traveled to Sam as she entered the dining room, freshly showered and looking like she'd just returned from battle. She'd tied her damp hair into a quick ponytail, her face soft with exhaustion and love as she greeted the kids with a smile. Jake abandoned his peas immediately and ran to her side, clinging to her leg until she knelt to kiss his cheek. Not to be outdone, Matilda squeezed past Jake to throw her arms around Sam's neck.
Jack felt his chest tighten at the sight. The years had been hard on them, but Sam carried it differently. Where he grew grayer and slower, she seemed to grow stronger, even when the weight of her choices was crushing. He watched as she kissed the top of Matilda's head and then stood, her hand brushing over Grace's shoulder as she sat down beside him.
"Sorry I took so long," she said, giving him a quick smile before turning her attention to the kids.
Dinner resumed, the kids chatting loudly about their plans, lists, and ever-growing excitement for Christmas. Jack sat back, letting the noise wash over him as he picked at his food. He loved this—his family, his home. It was everything he hadn't realized he wanted all those years ago when he was more accustomed to alien invasions than domestic bliss.
But lately… lately, things had been different.
His eyes landed on Jake, who was now regaling Sam with some elaborate tale about a ballet routine he'd seen in a video. Jack clenched his jaw, pushing down the irritation that flared up whenever the topic arose. It wasn't that he didn't love his son—God, he loved that kid more than anything—but sometimes, he just didn't get him. Jake wasn't like him. He wasn't like Matilda or even Grace. And Jack didn't know how to bridge that gap.
It hadn't always been this way. His relationship with Grace had been different from the start. When Sam had taken command of Atlantis, leaving him behind with their tiny baby, he'd been thrown into the deep end of fatherhood. Not one to rely on nannies, Jack had brought Grace to the office with him every day. He'd set up a portable crib in the corner of his office at Homeworld Command, and for a time, it felt like Grace was just as much a part of the team as he was.
His secretary, Mrs. Fletcher, had been a godsend during those times. She had become Grace's honorary grandmother, a sweet older woman with a no-nonsense attitude and a soft spot for babies. While Jack dealt with meetings, politicians, and crises, Mrs. Fletcher had taken over as Grace's second-in-command. She'd managed his schedule with the precision of a general and entertained Grace with toys and lullabies when he couldn't.
Jack smiled faintly, remembering the afternoons when he'd peek out of his office to find Mrs. Fletcher rocking Grace in her arms, humming softly as she typed with one hand—those moments had been a balm to his often-frayed nerves. And when the world finally quieted at night, it was just him and Grace in their home. He'd remembered how to make bottles again, change diapers, and soothe her cries, finding a rhythm in the chaos of early fatherhood. Grace had become his anchor, and he'd cherished every moment of that time with her, even as he struggled with the demands of his job and the ache of missing Sam.
But the twins… the twins were a different story.
Matilda had surprised him from the start. She was fearless, a little firecracker who seemed to channel all of his stubbornness and none of his hesitation. He remembered the day he'd taken her to a toy store, expecting her to gravitate toward dolls or stuffed animals. Instead, she'd marched straight past them, her eyes lighting up when she spotted the toy guns. She'd picked one up, examined it critically, and then turned to him with a grin.
"Can I have this?" she'd asked.
Before he could answer, she'd wandered off again, returning moments later with a hockey stick almost as tall as she was. "And this too?"
Jack had laughed, completely charmed. He'd bought her the entire hockey gear set that day, and by the following weekend, she'd already learned how to swing the stick like a pro. Matilda was easy to understand. She was bold and brash, diving headfirst into life in a way that reminded him of himself.
But Jake… Jake was his only son, and Jack had to admit he didn't understand him. Where Matilda charged ahead, Jake held back. He wasn't interested in sports or toy guns or anything Jack had expected him to like. Instead, Jake was drawn to books, art, classical music, and, most recently, ballet. Jack had tried to be supportive—he really had—but every time Jake brought up his new passion, something inside him balked.
Ballet wasn't… it wasn't what boys did. Not in his world, anyway.
He knew he was being unfair. He could see it in how Jake hesitated around him sometimes, and Sam's eyes would narrow whenever Jack failed to hide his discomfort. And deep down, Jack hated himself for it. He didn't want to be that dad who couldn't accept his son for who he was. He loved Jake fiercely, even if he didn't always understand him.
"Jack?" Sam's voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention back to the present. She looked at him with a faint frown, her head tilted slightly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she nodded and returned to the kids. Jack watched her as she laughed at something Grace said, her face lighting up in a way that made his chest ache. She'd been through so much—more than anyone should bear—yet here she was, holding them all together like some superglue.
He sighed quietly, picking up his fork and pushing his food around his plate. He didn't know how she did it. He didn't know how he was going to do it. But as he looked around the table at his family—their family—he knew one thing for sure. Whatever it took, he'd figure it out. Because this? This chaos, this noise, this life… it was everything. And he wouldn't let anything, not even his stubbornness, mess it up, even if Jake wanted a ballet doll for Christmas.
Dinner wrapped up in a swirl of clinking plates and animated chatter, the kids clearing the table under Grace's watchful eye. Jack leaned back in his chair, content to let her take charge—she had Sam's sense of order and his knack for giving just enough direction to get things done without a mutiny. Matilda tried sneaking a leftover roll, earning her a sharp glare from Grace, while Jake trailed behind with the last of the silverware, humming softly to himself.
After clearing the dishes, the family gravitated toward the living room, where the kids sprawled out on the large sectional couch. Sam sat down beside Jack, pulling her legs up under her as she relaxed into his side.
"Long day?" Jack asked, glancing at her as he absently rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.
"Very," she admitted, leaning her head against his shoulder. "One crisis after another. The SGC has its brand of chaos, doesn't it?"
Jack chuckled. "Chaos? At Stargate Command? Who would've thought?"
They shared a quiet laugh, a rare moment of connection in the middle of their busy lives. Grace was stretched out on one side of the couch with a notebook in her lap, sketching something suspiciously like her whiteboard domination plans. Matilda was busy organizing her hockey cards on the coffee table, flipping through them with an intensity that rivaled any mission briefing Jack had ever attended.
Jake, meanwhile, had picked up the remote. At first, he flipped idly through the channels, glancing at each one with mild disinterest. But then he stopped.
Jake didn't just stop on the ballet channel—he leaned forward, his tiny frame perched on the edge of the couch, completely captivated. His hands mimicked the delicate arm movements of the dancers, and his lips parted slightly as though he were breathing in the rhythm of the performance.
"They're so light," he whispered, awestruck. "Like they're flying."
For a moment, no one noticed. Sam was still murmuring to Jack about her day, Grace was lost in her sketches, and Matilda debated whether to trade one of her cards. But then Jake's voice rang out, clear and bright.
"This is what I want to be!" he exclaimed, sitting up straighter as he pointed to the screen. "Like them!"
The room fell into an abrupt, stunned silence.
Jack turned his head toward the TV, his brow furrowing as he took in the dancers twirling across the stage in their pristine white costumes. His jaw slackened slightly, and he stared at Jake as though he hadn't quite understood what his son had just said.
Jake, oblivious to the tension rising around him, beamed as he continued watching the screen, his tiny hands mimicking the delicate movements of the dancers.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Jake said, his voice full of awe. "I want to dance like that! I want to be like them!"
The words struck Jack like a physical blow. He blinked, his mouth opening and closing a few times before finally speaking.
"Over my dead body," he growled, snatching the remote from Jake's hand and switching off the TV with a sharp click.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
"Jack," Sam said softly, a note of warning in her voice.
But Jack didn't hear her. He was already on his feet, his face flushed with anger as he pointed toward the now-dark screen.
"You are not doing that, Jake. Not now, not ever."
"Why not?" Jake asked, his voice trembling.
"Because it's not happening," Jack snapped, his tone final. "No son of mine is prancing around in tights."
The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel.
Jake's face crumpled, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at his father. Sam was on her feet in an instant, pulling Jake into her arms as his slight frame shook with silent sobs.
"Jack O'Neill!" she hissed, her voice sharp and filled with disbelief.
But Jack didn't answer. He stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall as the front door slammed shut behind him.
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was Jake's muffled crying as he buried his face in Sam's shoulder.
Matilda was the first to react. She slammed her hockey cards down on the table, her face red with anger.
"That's not fair!" she shouted, glaring toward the door Jack had just disappeared through. "Jake can do whatever he wants! He doesn't have to be like Dad!" Matilda crossed her arms, then added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "If he doesn't stop being a jerk, I'm hiding his coffee. Let's see how Dad likes that!"
Grace, ever the calm and logical one, put her notebook down and moved closer to Jake. She sat beside him and their mother and gently touched his back. Her voice was steady and soothing, contrasting Matilda's fiery energy.
"Jake," she said softly, "it's okay. Dad didn't mean it. He's just… he's just being Dad."
Jake shook his head, his voice trembling as he whispered, "He hates me."
"No, sweetheart," Sam said firmly, pulling back just enough to look into his tear-streaked face. "Your dad loves you. He's just—" She paused, searching for the right words. "He doesn't understand yet. But we'll help him, okay?"
Jake didn't answer but nodded slightly, his face still buried against her.
Grace leaned in closer, her blue eyes filled with determination.
"Mom is right. He doesn't hate you."
Matilda knelt beside Jake, her hand squeezing his tightly.
"If Dad doesn't get it, that's his problem," she said firmly. "You're awesome at ballet, Jake. Way better than me at hockey, and I'm pretty great." She grinned, trying to coax a smile out of him.
Jake sniffled but managed a small, shy smile. "You think so?"
Matilda nodded emphatically.
"I know so. And if Dad repeats anything mean, I'll whack him on the knee with my hockey stick. He won't see it coming."
Jake giggled despite himself, and Grace rolled her eyes though a smile tugged at her lips. "Matilda, you're not helping."
Sam tried not to smile also. "No hockey sticks," she warned.
"What? It's true!" Matilda said, her grin widening. She turned back to Jake. "But seriously, Jake, we've got your back. Always."
Grace nodded in agreement.
"Mom," she said quietly, "you must talk to him. He can't… he can't say stuff like that."
"I will," Sam promised, her voice tight with emotion.
Matilda grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on, switching to the ballet channel.
"If Jake wants to watch this, he gets to watch it," she declared, plopping back onto the couch and crossing her arms defiantly. "And if Dad doesn't like ballet, he's the problem, not you! He's always going on about how you should do what makes you happy. Well, ballet makes you happy, so he needs to get over it."
Sam released a shaky breath, hugging Jake tighter as she glanced at her daughters. Matilda's fierce loyalty, Grace's quiet strength—they were all trying to protect each other, even in the face of Jack's outburst.
She looked toward the door, her heart heavy. Jack had always been stubborn, but this… this was different. He was scared, she realized. Frightened about losing the son he didn't understand. Scared of a world he couldn't control.
But she wouldn't let his fear hurt their family.
"Come on," she said gently, pulling Jake toward the couch. "Let's watch the rest together."
As the music swelled once more and the dancers returned to the screen, Sam sat with her children, her mind already working on what she would say to Jack. This wasn't over—not by a long shot.
Jack's knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly as he sped down the quiet streets of Colorado Springs, the anger still buzzing in his chest. But it wasn't just anger—something darker and deeper. A messy tangle of emotions he couldn't quite name. His mind replayed Jake's voice, bright and full of unfiltered joy: "This is what I want to be! Like them!" And then, just as quickly, the image of his son's face crumpled when he'd yelled those awful words. He slammed his fist against the dashboard, the dull thud breaking the suffocating silence.
Jack had always prided himself on being a good father. Or, at least, on trying to be one. He'd failed with Charlie in ways that still haunted him—ways that no amount of time or therapy could fix. And yet, sitting in the aftermath of that tragedy, he'd promised himself he'd never screw up like that again. He'd promised to do better. To be better. But tonight? Tonight, he'd done exactly what he swore he wouldn't.
He didn't even realize where he was driving until the lights of the town faded behind him, replaced by the quiet, open stretches of Colorado wilderness. The truck rumbled to a stop on a gravel shoulder just off a small trailhead. Jack killed the engine, the silence pressing around him like a weight. He let his hands drop from the wheel, his fingers stiff and aching from how hard he'd been gripping it.
And then, without warning, the tears came.
He didn't cry often. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd cried in the past twenty years—and even then, it had always been in private, behind closed doors, where no one could see the cracks in his armor. But now, sitting alone in his truck on a freezing December night, the tears fell freely. His head dropped forward, his forehead resting against the cool leather of the steering wheel as sobs wracked his chest.
"What the fuck have I done?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt.
It wasn't just what he'd said to Jake—it was the look on his son's face afterward. The confusion. The hurt. How he'd clung to Sam like she was the only safe harbor in a storm Jack had unleashed. Over my dead body, he'd shouted—those four words played repeatedly in his mind, each repetition like a knife twisting in his gut. Jake was five. Five years old. And all he wanted was to share something he loved that lit up his little world. And what had Jack done? He'd crushed it and stomped all over it because… what? Because it scared him?
That was the truth, wasn't it? He was scared. Scared of what it meant, scared of what the world would say, afraid of how it reflected on him. Jack had spent his whole life living up to a particular image—the soldier, the leader, the protector. But Jake wasn't like him. Jake was gentle, sensitive, and full of wonder in ways Jack didn't fully understand. And that terrified him.
Jack stared at the night sky, his breath forming clouds in the freezing air. He hadn't thought of Charlie in years—not this clearly. But Jake's teary face brought back memories he'd tried to bury: the afternoons he spent teaching Charlie to pitch, the way his laugh could fill a room. And that fateful day when all of it shattered. "Not again," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Not this time."
The thought of going back to the house felt impossible. He knew what was waiting for him there: Sam's anger, her disappointment, her razor-sharp ability to call him out on his bullshit. And he deserved it. God, did he deserve it. She'd fight for Jake because that's what she did—she fought for the people she loved. But that wasn't what scared him. What frightened him was facing Jake again. Looking into those big, tear-filled blue eyes and knowing he'd been the one to put that pain there.
Jack swiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, his breath fogging up the window as he exhaled shakily. He couldn't sit out here all night. Eventually, he'd have to go back. Face the music. Try to fix what he'd broken. But how? How did you make up for breaking a little boy's heart?
His mind drifted to all the moments he'd shared with Jake over the years—teaching him to ride a bike, tucking him in at night, reading him stories until he fell asleep. He loved that kid more than life, yet he'd failed him in the worst way possible tonight.
He stayed there for hours, watching the stars wheel across the sky. The stars didn't offer any answers. They never did. But as Jack stared at them, he made himself a promise. He didn't know how yet, but he would make this right. For Jake. For Sam. For their family.
Jack sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. With a deep breath, Jack started the truck and turned it toward home, the weight of his guilt still heavy on his shoulders but his resolve just a little stronger. Whatever happened next, he wasn't going to run from it. Not this time.
When Jack pulled into the driveway, the house was dark except for the soft glow of the living room light spilling through the curtains. His heart was pounding harder than when he'd first stormed out. He cut the engine and sat in the truck for a moment longer, staring at the faint outline of their home. Their home. The place where he'd built a life with Sam and the kids—a life he'd jeopardized tonight with his inability to keep it together.
He forced himself to step out into the cold and trudge up the front steps. The door creaked open, and he slipped inside, his boots scuffing softly against the floor as he closed it behind him. The house was quiet now, except for the heater's faint hum kicking on. He thought maybe Sam had gone to bed briefly, but then he saw her.
She was sitting on the couch, still dressed in jeans and a cozy navy blue sweater, her arms folded across her chest. Her expression was calm, but Jack wasn't fooled. Her blue eyes were sharper than ever, cutting through the room's dim light and pinning him in place like a butterfly on a board. She didn't say a word. Didn't even move. She just waited.
"Sam…" His voice came out rougher than he intended, and he cleared his throat. "I—"
"Don't." Her tone was quiet, but the weight behind it was enough to stop him cold. "Not yet. Sit down."
Jack hesitated, then shrugged off his jacket and dropped it over the back of a chair before sinking onto the couch across from her. His hands rested on his knees, and he couldn't quite bring himself to look her in the eye.
"I put the kids to bed," she began, her voice cool and measured. "It wasn't easy. Jake didn't want to let go of me, and Matilda wouldn't stop glaring at the door like she was waiting for you to come back so she could chew you out herself. Grace…" She let out a breath and shook her head. "Grace decided they all needed to sleep in Matilda and Jake's room. She dragged her mattress in there and set camp on the floor to ensure Jake felt safe. Because that's what a big sister does."
Jack winced, guilt tightening his chest. "I—"
"Do you even realize what you did tonight, Jack?" Her voice rose slightly, but she quickly reined it back in. "You didn't just hurt Jake. You scared him. You scared all of them. Matilda and Grace looked at me like they didn't even recognize you. And Jake…" Her voice caught, and she had to pause to steady herself. "He doesn't understand why you're so angry. He doesn't understand what he did wrong."
Jack's head dropped, his hands raking through his hair.
"I know I screwed up, okay? I know! You don't have to spell it out for me."
"I do have to spell it out for you!" she snapped, leaning forward now. "Because if I don't, you're just going to keep burying this and pretending it's fine until the next time you blow up. And Jack, I'm telling you right now, there cannot be a next time."
He finally looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain and frustration.
"You think I don't know that? Do you think I don't hate myself for what I did? I yelled at my five-year-old son, Sam. I shut him down when he was just… being himself. I don't even know why I did it. I just—" He broke off, shaking his head. "It's like something snapped, and I couldn't stop it."
Sam softened slightly at his admission, but her resolve didn't waver.
"Jack, I love you. You know that. But this? This isn't just about you. This is about our son. He's five years old. He's figuring out who he is, and it's our job to support him. Not crush him because we don't understand him."
"I know that," Jack said quietly, his voice thick. "I know I messed up. I'll apologize to him in the morning. I'll—"
"No." Sam cut him off sharply. "This isn't just about an apology. This is about making sure this doesn't happen again. I'm not going to stand by and watch you tear Jacob—or any of the kids—down because you're not dealing with whatever's going on in your head."
Jack frowned, his jaw tightening.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you need help." Her words were firm but not unkind. "You're carrying around a lot, Jack. I've seen it for years. I know you've got ghosts you don't want to discuss, and I've let you keep them to yourself because that's what you wanted. But it's not just you anymore. You have a family now. And if you're unwilling to deal with this for your own sake, you must do it for ours."
Jack's mouth opened, but no words came out. He looked at her, his expression torn between resistance and the deep ache of a man who knew she was right.
"I'm not asking," Sam continued, her voice softening. "I'm telling you. You need to see someone. A therapist, a counselor, whoever you're comfortable with. If you don't… Jack, I don't know how we move forward from this."
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.
"You're threatening me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
"I'm protecting our family," she said, holding his gaze. "I'm protecting Jacob. And you, if I'm being honest. Because I know you don't want to be the guy who breaks his kids' hearts. I know you love them. But love isn't enough if you can't get past whatever's holding you back."
The room fell into silence, the tension thick and suffocating. Jack's hands gripped his knees as he stared at the floor, his thoughts racing. He hated the idea of opening up to a stranger, hated the thought of dredging up memories he'd spent decades trying to bury. But the thought of losing what he had now—losing Sam, losing the kids—was even worse.
Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath and nodded.
"Okay."
Sam blinked, caught off guard by his quick agreement.
"Okay?"
"Okay," he repeated, looking up at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face etched with exhaustion and shame. "I'll do it. I don't know how, and I'm not promising it'll be pretty, but I'll do it. For Jacob. For all of them. And for you."
Sam exhaled slowly, relief washing over her. She reached out and took his hand, her grip firm and reassuring.
"We'll figure it out together," she said. "You don't have to do this alone, Jack."
He squeezed her hand, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.
"Good. Because I don't think I can."
Sam leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, her voice a whisper in the quiet room.
"I love you. Just… don't make me fight you on this again, okay?"
Jack nodded, closing his eyes as he let her presence anchor him.
"I won't. I promise."
For the first time that night, the weight on his chest began to lift, if only just a little.
When Jack and Sam retreated upstairs to their bedroom, their silence was heavy but not hostile. Jack quietly closed the door behind him and leaned against it, watching Sam move toward the bed. Her movements were slow and deliberate. She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest, her face a mixture of weariness and concern.
"I meant what I said, Jack," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I also know this isn't easy for you. None of this is."
He nodded, his throat tightening again.
"I don't know what to say, Sam. I keep replaying it in my head, and all I can think is… I broke something tonight."
Sam's expression softened. She stepped closer, her arms falling to her sides, as she reached out to place a hand on his chest.
"You didn't break anything that can't be fixed. But you need to try, Jack. For them. For us."
"I will," he promised, his voice low and rough. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Sam tilted her head, studying him, her fingers lightly brushing over his shirt.
"I know you will. But right now, I need you to stop beating yourself up for five minutes. We can't do this if you're drowning in guilt."
Jack swallowed hard, his hand coming up to cover hers.
"I don't deserve you," Jack whispered, staring at their joined hands. "Or them. God, Sam, I don't even know how I got so lucky, and all I do is screw it up."
Sam's eyes softened, her fingers brushing over his wedding band.
"Jack." She paused, waiting for him to meet her gaze. "You're not perfect. Neither am I. But you love our kids, and you fight like hell for them. That's what matters. Not… whether you get it right the first time."
"Jake's so different from me," Jack admitted, his voice raw. "I don't want him to feel like—like Charlie ever did. Like I didn't see him."
Sam's grip tightened. "Then keep showing up, Jack. That's what Jake needs. Not perfect. Just you."
He released a shaky breath and pulled her into his arms, holding her like his lifeline. And maybe she was. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo as his hands slid up and down her back in slow, soothing motions.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For not giving up on me."
Sam leaned back just enough to look up at him, her hands resting on his chest.
"You're my husband, Jack. I'm not going anywhere. But we're a team. You have to let me help you."
His only response was to kiss her—soft at first, hesitant, but quickly growing more insistent. It wasn't about passion, though that was there, too. It was about reassurance, about connection, about reminding her and himself that even when he messed up, this—their love—was unshakable.
Sam let him guide her to the bed, and Jack showed her what words often failed to convey as they lay together. His hands were gentle but firm, his lips tracing over every inch of her skin as though committing her to memory. He murmured apologies between kisses, promises against her collarbone, and assurances about how he held her afterward, his arms wrapped tightly around her as though she might slip away.
"You're my anchor, Sam," he whispered into the darkness, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You don't have to know," she replied, her fingers lightly stroking his chest. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
Later, Sam lay in bed beside Jack, the room illuminated only by the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung along the windows. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his shirt as their earlier conversation lingered, unspoken but still heavy.
"I'm sorry for leaving," Jack murmured suddenly, his voice low and gruff. His hand ran gently along her back, soothing and grounding. "I, uh… I know I screwed up earlier, but I… you always seem to know what to say, and I don't."
Sam shifted to look up at him, a faint smile on her lips.
"It's not about always knowing, Jack. It's about listening. Jake just wants to know we're paying attention—that we see him." Her fingers stilled, and her expression grew more serious. "But he also needs to feel supported by both of us."
Jack sighed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"I want to. I just… it's hard. Ballet's not exactly my comfort zone, you know?"
"Parenting isn't about our comfort zones," she said gently. "It's about theirs. Jake's got enough challenges in the world; he shouldn't have to face them at home, too."
Jack nodded slowly, his hand sliding into hers.
"I know, and I'll apologize tomorrow. So, what now?"
"Well," she began, sitting up slightly, "I start by finding that doll."
Jack turned his head toward her, his brows furrowing.
"The Dancing Prima Doll? I thought Grace said it's sold out everywhere."
"She did," Sam admitted, lips pressing into a determined line. "But I'll find it. If Jake's been dreaming about this, he deserves to see it under the tree."
Jack's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "You really are turning this into a mission, right?"
"Have you met me?" she countered in a light voice with a glint of steel in her eyes.
He chuckled softly, tugging her back down to him.
"Well, good luck, General. If anyone can pull off a Christmas miracle, it's you."
Sam nestled into his embrace, her mind already racing with plans. She would scour the city and call in favors if she had to. The doll might be sold out, but she'd faced more formidable odds. This wasn't just about a toy but about seeing her son light up with joy. As Jack's breathing evened out, signaling he'd drifted to sleep, Sam stared at the ceiling, her resolve hardening. She would make this happen for Jake, no matter what it took. Because that's what mothers—and leaders—do.