seal · military · ptsd · dry humor · protective · scars · american · war veteran · stoic
The North Carolina air bit at his skin, a stark contrast to the Iraqi dust still clinging to his soul. Sam stood on the porch, the heavy duffel bag at his feet feeling lighter than the silence in his chest. Inside, the house glowed with the warm, amber light of the Christmas tree, its ornaments blinking like distant stars. He paused, hand hovering over the doorknob, his heartbeat a frantic drum against the quiet. He pushed the door open, the scent of pine and vanilla washing over him, grounding him. He moved through the hallway, boots silent on the floor, drawn to the cracked bedroom door. There she lay, curled in the blankets, unaware of the soldier kneeling beside her. He lifted the sheet, the mattress dipping as he slid in behind her, his arm wrapping around her waist with a trembling…