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That's the answer that finally breaks something in her expression.

“You were supposed to wear the stupid matching pajamas.”

I step closer and take her hands. “These things are usually short. Last one was two weeks. Even if it's a little longer, that’s alright. We can do Christmas when I get back.”

I can tell she's trying to believe me.

So am I.

“What about the DNA test?”

Fuck.

Because apparently leaving my family with no warning isn't enough shit for one night.

“We'll handle that when I get home,” I tell her. “My lawyer can sort it out.”

That seems to at least settle that concern. She nods and leans into my chest.

“If anything happens before then—” I fucking hate what I'm about to say. “My will and account paperwork are in the bottom drawer.”

She looks up at me with glassy eyes.

“You have power of attorney. Medical and financial.” My voice is barely a whisper. If I don’t say the words too loudly then they will have no reason to ever be needed.

For a second, she just stands there, then her hands fist in the back of my shirt.

“I just got you back,” she whispers.

Fuck.

I close my eyes. “You're not losing me.”

“You can't promise that.”

My throat tightens. “I’ll be home. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She presses her face into my chest.

I hold her tighter.

Then another thought hits me. “If anything happens with the baby while I'm gone…”

Blaire stiffens.

I loosen my hold enough to see her face.

“Veronica will need to contact you.”

Her brows pull together. “Me?”

“Legally, yeah. You're my power of attorney and I'm not going to be reachable.”

“She has your lawyer.”

“She does, but if there's an actual emergency involving the pregnancy and somebody needs to make contact with me or notify the military, you're the person authorized to handle my shit.”

Blaire stares at me. I can see approximately fifty emotions move across her face. None of them good.