Personal Log – Supplemental
Posted on 28 Jun 2026 @ 9:42pm by Lieutenant Commander Leland Hawksley
718 words; about a 4 minute read
Personal Log – Supplemental
Lieutenant Commander Leland Hawksley
Newly assigned quarters, Deck 12
He sat alone at the desk in the half-lit room, the terminal’s soft blue interface the only real light. The new quarters where functional quiet—too quiet. No shared laughter from the other room, no half-finished conversations hanging in the air. Just the low hum of the computer and the steady presence of the dog at his feet. Leland took a slow breath and keyed the recorder.
“Computer, begin personal log entry. Voice only.”
His voice came out steadier than he felt.
“I’ve been putting this off but I need to get it off my chest. The divorce from Lilliana is final now. We stopped communicating. For months I kept trying to understand where we where headed. On several different occassions I asked her directly what she saw for our future. What she pictured once the child arrived. I wanted us to be on the same page about the marriage about becoming parents. I was ready to plan to adjust to do what ever work was necessary to keep us moving forward together. But every time I brought it up she shut down. No real answers. Just silence. Walls. I was confused. Our marriage had become something I didnt recognize anymore.”
He paused, jaw tight, staring at the screen without really seeing it.
“I did everything I could think of. I started the conversations. I made space for her thoughts and feelings. I prepared for the baby for the life we said we wanted. I kept reaching out even when it felt like I was talking to myself. It takes two people though. And at some point the communication just died.”
His shoulders dropped. The composed mask slipped for a moment; his voice grew quieter, rougher around the edges.
“Now I’m here. New quarters. Quieter then I ever wanted. Sitting at this desk with only Herc for company It feels lonely. Demoralizing. Like I poured everything I had into something that was already gone and I didnt see it in time. My energy is shot. I show up I do the work but inside I’m running on fumes.
The constant replay of those unanswered questions drains what ever is left. I try to stay composed Starfleet officers are supposed to hold it together but this has tested that more then I want to admit.”
He stopped again. When he continued, his voice cracked on the first word and he had to clear his throat.
“And the child we where expecting we wont be meeting that little one after all. I cant recount what happened. Its still too hard. Too raw to put into words here. Maybe another time. Not today.”
His head bowed. One hand came up to cover his eyes for a few seconds. The silence stretched.
From the floor beside the desk came a soft whine. Hercules—Herc—had lain quietly through the whole recording, ears low, watching his person. The small speaker on the dog’s collar crackled with the garbled slightly distorted output of the Canine Companion’s mind-reading interface: “Leland… sad… energy… low… but… Herc… here… decades… pack… not… broken…”
Leland let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh and reached down to rest his hand on the dog’s head. Herc pushed up, then carefully settled his chin on Leland’s knee, warm weight and steady eyes offering the only comfort he knew how to give. The collar speaker activated again a little more insistant this time:
“Chin… on… knee… now… comfort… mode… active… belly… rub… later… recommended…”
Despite everything, a small, broken sound escaped Leland—half chuckle, half sob. He kept his hand on Herc’s head, fingers moving slowly through the familiar fur.
“I just needed to say it out loud. To the computer. To process it. Maybe this log marks the end of one chapter so I can start figuring out the next one. Computer… end recording.”
He didnt move right away. The terminal dimmed. The quarters stayed quiet. But the weight on his knee and the soft steady breathing beside him reminded him he wasnt completely alone.
"Computer. Close log and save."
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