June 15, 2041
My dearest Sophie,
The hum of the engines beneath my boots is a constant reminder that I’m on my way to a world far from you and the kids. The desert waits, and with it, my new assignment. I know how much this pains you, and I can only imagine the tears you’ve hidden while packing my bag. Believe me, it’s no easier for me to leave.
They’ve stationed me at a nuclear reactor in the heart of the Middle East. It’s not the sort of work I expected when I signed up all those years ago, but the tensions out here make it critical. This reactor isn’t just a source of power; it’s the lifeblood of the region's stability—or so they tell us. Our orders are clear: defend it at all costs. I’ll be running security, coordinating with locals and contractors. It’s dangerous work, but I’ve faced worse.
The boys at base tell me this post is less about firefights and more about politics, but I promise to keep my head down and my heart focused on coming back to you. Tell Emma and Ryan their dad’s doing important work to keep the world a little safer.
I’ll write again as soon as I get settled. Hold onto this letter for the days when the worry becomes too much. Remember, Sophie, I’m coming home to you. Always.
Yours,
Etrius
July 10, 2041
Sophie,
This place is nothing like I imagined. The reactor itself rises like a metal giant from the endless sand, surrounded by towering fences and checkpoints. It hums day and night, the sound crawling into your bones. I’ve learned to tune it out, though sometimes I wonder if the hum doesn’t sink deeper than the ears.
The team here is a mixed bag—contractors, engineers, soldiers. We don’t always understand each other, but we make it work. The reactor is as much a political pawn as it is a power source, and there’s tension in the air you could cut with a knife. I’ve been tasked with overseeing the reactor’s perimeter, ensuring no unauthorized personnel slip through.
The nights are eerily quiet. I’ll often find myself staring out at the dunes, wondering if you’re looking at the stars the same way I am. The loneliness creeps in during those hours, but I remind myself that every shift here brings me closer to returning home.
The heat’s unbearable, the food’s worse, and the constant pressure weighs heavy, but I’m holding strong. Tell the kids I miss them, and let Emma know her drawing made it to my bunk. It’s taped up right above my pillow.
Always,
Etrius
December 5, 2041
Sophie,
Something’s not right. I’ve been feeling... off lately. The headaches come and go, sharp and sudden. My hands shake sometimes, and I can’t seem to shake this bone-deep fatigue. The medics here think it’s just stress or dehydration—nothing serious. But you know me, Sophie; I’ve never been one to complain without reason.
The reactor had a minor incident last week—a surge in the containment systems. Nothing dangerous, they assured us, but the engineers were scrambling for days. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all connected. We’re told everything’s fine, but doubts linger in the quiet moments.
Don’t tell anyone back home about this, not even Emma and Ryan. There’s no need to worry the kids over something that might pass on its own. But you, Sophie—you deserve to know. I promise I’ll keep an eye on it.
How are things back home? Are the kids ready for Christmas? I miss the chaos of the holidays, the way Emma insists on decorating everything, and how Ryan sneaks cookies before dinner.
I love you. Always.
Etrius
March 2, 2042
Sophie,
I wish I could deliver this news in person, but here I am, writing another letter. The medics finally figured out what’s wrong. It’s not dehydration or stress. It’s cancer. Brain cancer, they said. Aggressive, advanced.
The doctors were blunt. They said the exposure to radiation could have been a factor, though no one’s willing to confirm anything. It doesn’t matter now. The prognosis isn’t good. They’re sending me home—back to you, to the kids, to spend what time I have left with my family.
I’m not afraid of what’s coming. I’ve lived a good life, Soph. I’ve had you, our children, and memories that even death can’t take away. My only fear is leaving you behind, knowing how much this will hurt you and the kids. But I know you. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.
I’ll be on a plane in a few days. Hold the kids close for me. Tell them their dad’s coming home. Tell them I love them.
Yours, always,
Etrius
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