The living room was an explosion of colors—blue and silver balloons floated near the ceiling, paper stars were strung along the walls, and a giant cardboard cutout of a smiling cartoon fish stood proudly next to the refreshment table. The entire space had been transformed into a mix of ocean and space themes, a combination only a four-year-old genius could request.

Sam stood in the center of it all, adjusting the arrangement of cupcakes shaped like planets, each topped with tiny edible rings of icing. She sighed, brushing a stray strand behind her ear. The scent of vanilla cake filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of wrapping paper and freshly blown balloons.

"Okay, Sam, I have to ask," Mason said, leaning casually against the counter, watching her with a bemused smirk. "Are we celebrating one birthday or two separate events? Because I see Jupiter, and I see Nemo, and I'm starting to think Grace is living in two different universes."

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking her head as she adjusted a tiny astronaut figurine on the cake. "If you think this is confusing, you should have seen the initial list of demands. She wanted the fish to be astronauts and the stars to be underwater."

Mason chuckled. "She's got range. Maybe we should introduce her to tattoo design. I'd hire her in a heartbeat."

Sam rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. Mason had been around a lot more lately—ever since he and Liz had made things official, he'd become a near-permanent fixture in their lives. She didn't mind. He was easygoing, a good balance to Liz's chaos. And, more importantly, he was good to her best friend.

Grace's laughter rang from the other room, the unmistakable sound of a child basking in the joy of her own birthday party. Sam glanced toward the open doorway where she could see her daughter proudly showing off her collection of sea creature toys to a group of Liz's friends who had stopped by to celebrate.

"You know," Mason continued, stealing a frosted cookie from the table, "Liz told me Grace is, like, a tiny genius."

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. "Did she?"

He grinned. "Yeah, and by the look on your face, I'm guessing she was right."
Sam exhaled, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter beside him. "She tested high. Really high. The kind of scores that have specialists saying I should be pushing her toward accelerated learning."

Mason nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "And you're not?"

Sam shook her head. "She's four. She should be playing with her stuffed animals, not drowning in advanced curriculum. I want her to have a childhood first. I don't want her growing up feeling like she's different."

Mason studied her for a moment, something thoughtful in his gaze. "You know, I get it. But she is different, Sam. She's brilliant. And I think she's going to be one of those kids who shapes the world someday."

Sam felt a pang in her chest, equal parts pride and fear. "I just want her to be happy."

Mason smiled, nudging her shoulder lightly. "From what I've seen, she already is."

Before Sam could respond, Grace came bounding into the kitchen, her curly blonde hair bouncing with every step. She threw her arms up dramatically. "Mommy! Did you see my big fish?"

Sam crouched down, smoothing out her daughter's dress—a blue fabric adorned with tiny silver stars. "I did, Pumpkin. He's amazing."

Grace grinned. "He's a space fish! He swims and he flies."

Mason chuckled. "Told you. She's got range."

Sam shook her head, lifting Grace into her arms. "Alright, space explorer, birthday girl, and marine biologist in training—are you ready for cake?"

Grace gasped, eyes wide with excitement. "Yes! With the candles! And the sparkles!"

Sam pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, breathing her in. "Then let's do it."

A few hours later, the house was finally quiet. The remnants of Grace's birthday party had been cleaned up—streamers taken down, wrapping paper tossed, stray cupcakes either eaten or stored away. Sam exhaled as she sank into the couch, curling her fingers around a glass of wine, allowing herself to savor the silence.

The evening had been perfect. Grace had fallen asleep almost instantly, exhausted from a day filled with laughter, sugar, and more space-fish adventures than anyone could count. Sam had tucked her in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering a quiet happy birthday before retreating downstairs.

Liz entered the living room, barefoot and in sweatpants, plopping onto the couch next to Sam with a stack of mail in her hands. "Alright, birthday girl is officially out for the count," she announced. "And now, onto the less exciting part of the day—your mail."

Sam groaned, tilting her head back against the couch. "Please tell me it's just bills."

Liz smirked. "Oh, Carter. When will you learn? The universe loves throwing unexpected plot twists at you." She flipped through the envelopes, tossing aside junk mail and credit card offers before pausing at a thick, elegant envelope. The gold trim caught the light, making it stand out against the rest of the pile.

"Oooh," Liz said, wiggling her eyebrows as she handed it over. "This one looks fancy."

Sam took it hesitantly, recognizing the official SGC seal stamped on the front. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she carefully opened it, her fingers smoothing over the crisp invitation.

The moment her eyes landed on the words, she let out a quiet sigh.

You are cordially invited to the annual SGC Christmas Gala.
Personnel and their families are encouraged to attend.

Sam stared at it, her stomach twisting.

"Oh," Liz said, peering over her shoulder. "A fancy ball? With military dudes in uniform? And free booze? Carter, this is so not a problem."

Sam made a face and tossed the invitation onto the coffee table. "I'm not going."

Liz blinked, unimpressed. "Excuse me? You have to go."

"No, I don't." Sam crossed her arms, already dreading the thought. "It's optional."

Liz scoffed, picking up the invitation and waving it in front of her face. "You work at a top-secret military base. How often do you guys get to have actual fun? This is clearly a big deal."
Sam shook her head. "Liz, this isn't some fun, casual Christmas party. It's a military function. It's all about networking, handshaking, and pretending to enjoy lukewarm hors d'oeuvres while standing in uncomfortable heels."

Liz narrowed her eyes. "That's not why you don't want to go."

Sam didn't respond.

Liz's smirk faded slightly, and she leaned in, watching her best friend carefully. "This is about him, isn't it?"

Sam's jaw tightened, but she didn't deny it.

"General Jack O'Neill will be there," Liz continued, her voice softer now. "And so will his wife."

Sam swallowed hard, gripping the stem of her wine glass. "Exactly."

Liz sighed, tossing the invitation back onto the table. "Sam…"

"I don't want to go, Liz," Sam cut in, her voice quiet but firm. "I don't want to stand in that ballroom, pretending I don't feel like my entire chest is caving in. I don't want to watch him dance with her, and I don't want to be in the same room, knowing that everything between us is just…"

Liz was quiet for a moment before she tilted her head. "And you think avoiding it makes it easier?"

Sam exhaled sharply. "I think it makes it survivable."

Liz studied her before leaning back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Well, lucky for you, I have a solution."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Liz grinned, picking up the invitation again. "You're not going alone."

Sam frowned. "Liz—"

"Nope, no arguments." Liz pointed at her. "We are going. Together. And we are going to drink, and we are going to dance, and you are going to look so breathtakingly stunning that O'Neill himself is going to have an existential crisis about every life choice he's ever made."

Sam gave her a flat look. "That's not the goal."

Liz shrugged. "Fine. But it is a bonus."

Sam hesitated, the invitation still sitting between them like a ticking time bomb.

"Come on," Liz nudged her shoulder. "You can't hide forever. And maybe—just maybe—you'll actually have fun."

Sam sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I hate that you're usually right."

Liz smirked. "It's a burden I bear."

Sam picked up the invitation again, staring at the elegant lettering. The idea of going still made her stomach knot, but if Liz was by her side… maybe, just maybe, she could get through it.

"Fine," she muttered. "But if I regret this, you owe me wine for a year."

Liz grinned. "Deal."

The ballroom was bathed in the soft glow of twinkling chandeliers, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors and casting delicate patterns against the walls. Christmas wreaths and elegant red-and-gold garlands adorned the grand hall, the festive ambiance a stark contrast to the usual sterile corridors of the SGC. The air hummed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the quiet hum of a live orchestra playing in the background.

And then there was Sam.

If there had been any lingering doubt about whether she should have attended, it vanished the moment she stepped through the grand doors.

Her dress was a masterpiece—a black gown that clung to her figure in all the right places before flowing down in soft waves of silk. The neckline dipped just enough to be elegant but alluring, the thin straps baring her toned shoulders, while the open-back design left a hint of mystery as she moved. Tiny flecks of metallic threading caught the light with every step, making her look as though she had been woven from the very stars she spent her life studying.

She wasn't here to turn heads, but she did.

Liz, beside her in a striking emerald dress, nudged her playfully as they handed their coats to the attendant. "You do know you're causing heart palpitations, right?"

Sam rolled her eyes, smoothing out the fabric of her gown. "It's just a dress, Liz."

Liz scoffed. "Carter, please. That dress is a weapon."

Sam chuckled, shaking her head as they stepped further into the ballroom. She scanned the room quickly, a habit she couldn't quite shake, searching for one face in particular.

Jack wasn't here.

Her shoulders loosened.

She hadn't realized how much tension she had been holding in until that moment. Maybe this night wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Alright," Liz said, looping her arm through Sam's. "Let's go find your nerd friends."

Sam laughed, letting Liz drag her toward the far end of the ballroom where Daniel and Teal'c were standing near the refreshments.

Daniel spotted them first, his eyes widening slightly as they approached. "Wow. Sam, you—" He blinked, adjusting his glasses. "You look incredible."

Sam smiled, warmth creeping up her neck. "Thanks, Daniel."

Liz, grinning, extended a hand to him. "You must be the famous Dr. Jackson."

Daniel took her hand with a polite smile. "And you must be the famous Liz I've heard so much about."

Liz turned to Sam, her face smug. "I like this one."

Sam rolled her eyes, but her amusement was cut short as Teal'c stepped forward, his deep voice breaking through the chatter around them.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth."

Liz's eyes widened slightly at the formal greeting, but instead of feeling awkward, she tilted her head, intrigued. "Elizabeth? Haven't been called that since my mother was mad at me."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "It is a name of strength."

Liz blinked before breaking into a slow grin. "Alright, Muscles. I think we're gonna get along just fine."

Daniel chuckled under his breath, watching the interaction unfold as Sam shook her head in amusement.

"I should've known she'd hit it off with Teal'c," she muttered to Daniel.

Daniel smirked. "She has good taste."

Before Sam could respond, the orchestra struck up a waltz, and Daniel turned to her with a teasing smile. "Come on. Dance with me."

Sam hesitated, but Liz nudged her. "Go, have fun. That's the whole point of tonight, remember?"

Taking a breath, Sam nodded. "Alright, Daniel. Just try not to step on my feet."

Daniel chuckled as he led her onto the dance floor, his hand settling lightly at her waist. "No promises."

As the waltz ended, Daniel dipped Sam playfully, earning a surprised laugh from her before pulling her upright with a grin.

"See? That wasn't so bad," he teased.

Sam chuckled, smoothing out her dress. "I'll admit, you're not as terrible as I expected."

Daniel placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'll take that as a victory."

Before Sam could retort, a warm, familiar voice interrupted.
"Samantha."

Sam turned, and her face broke into a genuine smile. "Catherine!"

Catherine Langford, ever elegant, stood before her in a navy gown that suited her refined presence. There was a warmth in her eyes that made Sam's heart swell.

"You look stunning, my dear," Catherine said, taking Sam's hands in hers.

Sam flushed lightly but smiled. "So do you. I didn't know you were coming tonight."

Catherine waved a hand dismissively. "I wouldn't miss it. I may be retired, but I still have my ways of receiving invitations." She glanced around the ballroom, amusement twinkling in her eyes before squeezing her hands. "I'm proud of you, Samantha. The work you've done, the way you've stepped into your own at the SGC—it's remarkable."

Sam exhaled, touched by the praise. "It hasn't been easy."

"It never is," Catherine agreed. "But you've never been one to back down from a challenge." She studied Sam closely, something unreadable flickering in her expression. "And how are you finding your colleagues?"

Sam swallowed, suddenly aware that Catherine, perceptive as ever, was picking up on the weight behind that question.

"I'm managing," she said carefully.

Catherine arched a delicate eyebrow. "Managing?"

Sam hesitated. Catherine had always been a mentor, someone she could confide in. But how could she explain the tangled mess of feelings that came with working beside Jack O'Neill? The longing, the tension, the impossible circumstances?

Catherine seemed to understand her hesitation, and instead of pressing, she simply smiled. "Well, whatever it is, just remember—you're allowed to live, Samantha. Not just exist."

The words settled deep, leaving Sam momentarily speechless.

Before she could respond, a soft hush spread through the crowd, and Sam turned to follow the shift in energy.

At the entrance of the ballroom, dressed in full military formality, stood Jack O'Neill.

And beside him, his wife.

The lighthearted atmosphere of the evening dimmed, and Sam felt an invisible vice tighten around her ribs.

Catherine's voice was gentle as she leaned in. "You'll figure it out," she murmured. "You always do."

Then, with one last knowing smile, she stepped away, leaving Sam standing there, her heart pounding, as Jack's gaze found hers across the room.

The cool night air did little to settle the weight in Sam's chest. She leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, staring out at the distant city lights, the quiet hum of the streets below grounding her more than the noise inside ever could. The ball had been a pleasant distraction at first—she had danced with Daniel, laughed at Liz's antics, exchanged polite conversations with colleagues—but none of it had been enough to keep her from noticing the moment he arrived.

Jack O'Neill had walked in, dressed in formal military attire, commanding attention without even trying. But that wasn't what had made her stomach tighten.

It was the woman at his side.

His wife.

Sam had known she would be here, had tried to prepare herself for it, but seeing them together had sent something sharp through her. She had lasted all of ten minutes before making an excuse to slip outside, seeking refuge in the cold air.

Now, as she tried to collect herself, she heard the faint click of heels against the stone behind her. She turned, expecting another officer or scientist taking a quiet break from the noise inside. But instead, standing just a few feet away, poised and composed, was her.

Jack's wife.

Up close, she was effortlessly elegant. Her dark blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, and the deep navy gown she wore fit her perfectly. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held something sharp—something assessing.

"I know you," the woman said, her voice smooth, confident.

Sam frowned slightly, taken aback by the certainty in her words. She searched her face for familiarity but found none. Had they met before? She would have remembered, wouldn't she?

"I… don't think we've been introduced," she said carefully.

The woman tilted her head slightly. "No, we haven't." There was a pause, and then, with quiet amusement, she added, "But we've met."

Sam stiffened. She didn't like the way that sounded.

The woman studied her reaction, her lips pressing into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

Sam hesitated. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but she couldn't quite place it.

The woman exhaled softly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Sam straightened slightly, her fingers curling against the edge of the stone railing. "Have we… met at the SGC?" she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

A pause. Then the woman shook her head. "No. We met at the park. A few months ago."

Sam's stomach twisted before she could stop it.

The park.

The memory came rushing back—the sun filtering through the trees, Grace's laughter, her tiny hands reaching for Sam as she steadied herself on wobbly legs. And nearby, a woman sitting on a bench, absorbed in a book… or so Sam had thought at the time.

Her pulse quickened. Had she noticed? Put it together?

No. She couldn't have.

Sam forced herself to remain calm, to keep her face unreadable. "I'm sorry," she said smoothly. "I don't remember."

The woman let the silence stretch for a beat longer than was comfortable. "I do."

Sam felt something tighten in her chest.

The woman took a slow step closer, tilting her head slightly. "I didn't catch your name that day," she said, her voice quiet but deliberate.

Sam met her gaze, refusing to let any unease show. "Dr. Samantha Carter."

The woman inhaled slightly, as if committing the name to memory. And then, with a flicker of something in her expression, she exhaled.
"You work with my husband."

Sam's heart slammed against her ribs, but she forced herself to nod. "Yes."

A charged silence followed.

Jack's wife studied her carefully, as if searching for something beneath the surface. Then, her lips curved—not quite a smile, but close enough to unsettle Sam.

"Tell me, Dr. Carter," she murmured, her voice deceptively light.

"Is there something I should know?"

The question was quiet. Polite, even.

But it wasn't a question at all.

Sam swallowed. What does she know?

Did she think Sam was just another officer working under Jack? Did she suspect something more? Or—Sam's stomach twisted—does this have something to do with Grace?

Every instinct told her to tread carefully.

She had spent years keeping her daughter hidden from the SGC, from the military world. She had drawn a firm line between her work and her child, refusing to let the two ever touch.

And yet, somehow, in the span of one evening, Jack's wife had unknowingly crossed that line.
Sam squared her shoulders, keeping her expression neutral. "I'm not sure what you mean."

The woman held her gaze for a long moment, then smiled faintly.

"I suppose not," she said.

The evening had been long, yet Sam had no idea where the time had gone. She had done everything she could to keep herself occupied, to stay immersed in conversation, to keep moving. Daniel had been an easy distraction, keeping her engaged in discussions about an upcoming research proposal. Teal'c had provided a source of unexpected amusement as he and Liz had bonded over their shared bluntness, exchanging comments that had made even Daniel raise an eyebrow.

She had danced, she had laughed, she had pretended.

And all the while, she had been aware of him. Them.

Jack had made no attempt to speak to her—not that she had expected him to. He had been on the other side of the room for most of the night, moving through the crowd with the casual ease of a man who didn't seem to belong in such a setting but knew how to navigate it anyway.

And yet, she felt his eyes on her.

She hadn't looked directly at him, had refused to, but Liz had caught on almost immediately.
It was during a lull in the music, when Sam was standing with her friend at the bar, sipping on champagne and trying to ground herself in the normalcy of the evening, that Liz nudged her subtly.

"He's looking at you again."

Sam tensed, keeping her gaze fixed on her drink. "Who?"

Liz snorted. "Oh, please. Do you want me to say it out loud? Because I will. And I'll make it dramatic."

Sam exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. "Don't."

Liz smirked but relented, leaning against the bar. "He's been watching you all night, Sam. Like he's—" She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Like he's trying to commit you to memory."

Sam's throat tightened. "It's nothing."

Liz arched an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. "It's not nothing. And you know it."

Sam let out a slow breath, willing the heat rising in her chest to settle. It didn't matter. Whatever this thing was—whatever Jack O'Neill felt when he looked at her—it didn't matter.

Because nothing could come of it.

The drive home was suffocatingly silent. The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful or comfortable, but heavy, loaded with unspoken words and things neither of them had the energy to say. Sara sat in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed out the window. Jack kept his eyes on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. They had spent years in this silence, but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt like something was ending.

When he pulled into the driveway, he killed the engine, but neither of them moved. The headlights cast long shadows against the house, stretching across the pavement like fractures in the night. Jack exhaled slowly, bracing himself, because he knew something was coming.

"I want a divorce."

She didn't raise her voice. She didn't sound angry or bitter. Just tired.

Jack flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. He didn't look at her. "You sure you don't want to sleep on it?" His voice was quiet, resigned.

Sara let out a short, humorless laugh. "I don't need to sleep on it, Jack. I've been sleeping on it for years."

That made him look at her. She met his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, there was no resentment in her expression. Just a deep exhaustion that mirrored his own. He took a slow breath, letting the weight of it settle.

"Alright."

Sara blinked, as if she had expected him to argue. But he didn't. Because deep down, he had known this was coming. They both had.

She studied him for a long moment, then turned slightly in her seat, running a hand through her hair. "There's something else."

Jack felt his stomach tighten. "Alright."

Sara hesitated, her fingers brushing absently against her knee. "Your Dr. Carter."

Jack opened his mouth, but the words didn't come immediately. There was a flicker of something—something dangerous—before he caught himself. He forced a scoff, shaking his head. "She's not mine."

Sara arched an eyebrow, the corners of her lips tilting in something almost amused. "No," she agreed, voice soft but cutting. "But I think you wish she was."

He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Sara sighed. "I saw her in the park a few months ago. She was with her daughter."

Jack frowned, the words not quite registering. "Her what?"

"Her daughter," Sara repeated, looking back toward the windshield. "Little girl. Three or four years old, maybe. Beautiful kid. Brown eyes." She paused, inhaling slowly before she added, "I remember because… well."

Jack's pulse kicked in his throat. "What are you talking about?"

Sara turned to face him fully now, her brows knitting together. "You didn't know?"

Jack shook his head, his mind suddenly racing, trying to piece together something that didn't make sense. Dr. Samantha Carter had a kid? And he hadn't known?

Sara watched him carefully, her expression unreadable, then exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "Huh."

Jack didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. Sam had a daughter. And she had never told him. Not once.

The realization sat heavy in his chest, a tangled mess of confusion and something dangerously close to betrayal. A part of him wanted to demand why she had never mentioned it. Another part of him already knew the answer.

And then, a new thought sliced through him.

Who's the father?

The question hit like a punch to the gut, sharp and unrelenting.

Jack exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He hadn't even finished processing that Sam was a mother, and already his mind was spiraling. There had to be someone—there was always someone. Because Sam Carter wasn't the kind of woman to raise a child alone. She was responsible, careful, calculated in everything she did. She had plans, structure. She wouldn't have done this without a partner.

A partner. A man.

Jack clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

Because now, suddenly, things made sense. The way she always had to be back at the end of the day, the hesitations, the times she had almost let something slip but swallowed it down before the words could form. She had someone waiting for her.

Some perfect, reliable guy. Someone steady. A scientist, maybe—her intellectual equal. Some clean-cut man in a button-down who worked in a lab and didn't disappear on black-ops missions or come home covered in blood. A man who gave her stability, a man who probably made her laugh.

Jack hated him. Whoever he was.

Because Sam had told him—again and again—that there was no one. At Washington. Before that. Every damn time he'd asked, she'd shut it down. 'No, sir. There's no one waiting for me.' Had she been lying? Or had she simply never considered it his business?

Something ugly twisted inside him, something he didn't want to name. It wasn't fair—he knew it wasn't fair—but fair had never mattered when it came to her. He wanted to demand why she had never told him, why she had kept this hidden while he—he had kissed her knowing damn well he had no right to.
Jack let out a slow, uneven breath, trying to steady himself, but rage and jealousy roared through his veins in equal measure.

Because he—the one who had no right, the one who had broken every unspoken rule with a single kiss in a hotel hallway—he had let himself want her.

And she had someone else.
For crying out loud.

Jack sat in the suffocating silence of his truck long after Sara had gone inside, the weight of the night pressing down on him like a vice. His wife had just told him their marriage was over, and yet, the only thing looping through his mind was Sam—her laugh in a briefing room, the way she had looked at him in Washington, the way she had felt in his arms when they danced. Everything he wasn't supposed to think about, everything he had spent a month trying to bury.

His life was falling apart. And somehow, all he could think about was the one woman he could never have.