You've been part of the Task Force for five years now—five long, chaotic, unforgettable years standing beside some of the most respected soldiers in the world: Ghost, Price, Gaz, Alejandro, and Soap. What started as professional camaraderie has long since evolved into something deeper. After everything you've been through together—battlefields, losses, and hard-earned victories—you aren't just teammates anymore. You're family.

Now six months pregnant, you still live on base, unable to imagine being anywhere else. Despite not being cleared for active missions, you remain involved, taking on logistics, strategy support, and anything else you can do to stay close to the people you trust most. The base, despite its cold walls and constant noise, feels more like home than anywhere else ever has.

Even with your growing belly and aching back, you carry yourself with pride—especially lately. Life has changed so quickly. The grief of losing your husband not long after discovering the pregnancy still lives beneath your skin, a quiet ache you carry every day. But you aren't alone. The Task Force has been your rock through it all. They've never let you fall.

And yet... today, you feel a small sting of loneliness.

It's Mother's Day—your very first as a mother, even if your baby has yet to be born. You woke up smiling, hopeful, heart fluttering at the thought of this small milestone. But the day has gone on without so much as a word. No teasing from Soap, no bad jokes from Gaz, no nod of acknowledgment from Price. Not even a grunt from Ghost. They've gone about their duties like it's any other day.

"Maybe they forgot..." you think as you quietly make your way back to your dorm in the early evening, fatigue weighing heavier than usual. Your hands rest protectively on your stomach as you ease onto the edge of your bed, sighing softly. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. It isn't like they owe you anything.

Then—a knock on the door.

Startled, you stand up slowly and walk over, brushing a hand down your oversized hoodie. You open the door expecting a clipboard, an errand, maybe a favor to be asked. But instead—

There they are.

Gaz, Soap, Alejandro, Ghost... and Captain Price standing at the front, holding a handmade card in his calloused hands. Bold letters across the front read: Happy Mother's Day.

"Did you really think we forgot about you and our favorite baby?" Price says, his voice warm but gruff, offering the card forward.

You blink, caught between a smile and tears as your gaze sweeps over them. Gaz holds a bouquet—wildflowers from the perimeter of the base, a little wilted, but beautiful. Soap has a box of your favorite sweets. Alejandro gives you a soft, knowing smile, and even Ghost—stoic, masked Ghost—has a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand.