The chapel was small, intimate—exactly what Shira had wanted. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden pews. White flowers, simple and elegant, lined the aisle. No grand cathedral, no military honors, no rifles or flags. Just family, close friends, and the quiet promise of a new beginning.

In the small preparation room, Shira stood before the mirror, barely recognizing herself.

The dress was simple—ivory silk, flowing and soft, nothing like the hard edges of her combat uniform. Her hair, usually pulled back in a practical ponytail, fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She wore minimal makeup, just enough to highlight the peace that had finally settled into her features.

Captain Reyes, who’d flown in from her new posting, stood beside her, adjusting the veil. “You look beautiful, Shira. Really beautiful.”

“I feel strange,” Shira admitted. “Like I’m playing dress-up.”

“You’re not playing anything. This is you. The real you.” Reyes smiled. “The warrior gets to be a bride today.”

There was a soft knock, and Miriam entered, her face already glistening with tears.

“Ima,” Shira said gently. “Don’t cry yet. The ceremony hasn’t even started.”

But Miriam couldn’t help it. She approached her daughter, taking both her hands, studying her face with an intensity that made Shira’s throat tighten.

“What is it, Ima?”

“You’re here,” Miriam whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re really here. Alive. Whole.” Her hands trembled as she cupped Shira’s face. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake, terrified that the next phone call would tell me you were gone? How many times I prepared myself to bury another child?”

“Ima—”

“But you came home.” Miriam’s tears flowed freely now. “Not just your body—you. My Shira. The girl I raised. The daughter I thought I’d lost to the war.” She pressed her forehead to Shira’s. “The ghosts are gone, aren’t they? Ari, Saul, all those battles—they’re not chasing you anymore.”

Shira felt her own eyes burn. “No, Ima. They’re not. I’m free.”

“Then I’m free too,” Miriam breathed. “For the first time since we lost Ari, I can breathe. I have my daughter back. Not the soldier. Not Lilith. Just my Shira. Whole and alive and choosing life.”

They held each other, two women who’d survived wars in different ways, finally finding peace in the same moment.

Another knock. Simon’s voice, gruff but gentle: “It’s time.”

Miriam took her seat in the front row, dabbing her eyes, watching as the small gathering settled. Staff Sergeant Warren sat with his wife. David’s parents beamed from across the aisle. A handful of veterans Shira had helped through her work sat quietly in the back, honored to witness this moment.

The music began—something classical, soft, beautiful.

The doors at the back of the chapel opened.

And there was Simon, standing tall despite the cane in his right hand, his left arm extended for his daughter.

Shira took his arm, and for a moment, father and daughter simply looked at each other.

“You ready?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Abba.”

“No regrets?”

“None.”

His jaw tightened with emotion. “I trained you to survive, Shira. I taught you to be a warrior because I was terrified of losing you like we lost Ari. I made you into something dangerous because I thought that was the only way to keep you safe.”