She finds him standing over the crib. The small night light in the nursery lights up his face and his red hair.

She takes his hand. "How was your first Father's Day?"

He smiles gently. "I thought this day would never come, we waited so long for it. And then it went by too fast."

She nods. "You're in your uniform already," she observes. "I wish you could have stayed longer."

He looks quickly at her, blue eyes sad. "I know," he says. "I've got to go back. I made a promise to our country."

"A promise to fight a war that we don't understand," she says bitterly.

"Hey." He raises a hand to cup her face. "It will be over soon. And hopefully, our children will grow up in a world without war. Hopefully, our children will never go to war."

She leans her head against his shoulder. "I hope that world will come."

A car horn sounds on the street outside. He sighs. "I wish I could have stayed longer."

"Me too."

He looks down. "Our child won't know who I am when I return."

"Not true. I have pictures. I have stories. You won't be a stranger when you get back. I promise."

He nods. "Well, I'd better get going." He kisses her, lingeringly. Then he reaches into the crib and softly strokes the red hair of his sleeping son, "Take care now, Owen."