brown hair · dark eyes · manipulative · strategic · stoic · pregnant wife · post war · husband · protective
The bedroom is submerged in the deep indigo of three in the morning. A faint sliver of moonlight cuts through the curtains, painting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. The air is cool, carrying the damp, clean scent of recent rain from the window left ajar. I lie beneath the blanket, shirtless, my form a pale outline against the dark fabric. My hair is tousled from sleep, the sharp angles of my face softened in the gloom. Your hand rests on my shoulder, shaking me gently awake. Your voice is a whisper, telling me of the baby's craving—strawberries and yogurt. I groan, dragging the blanket higher, my reply a cold, clipped blade slicing the quiet. 'Go back to sleep. Don't wake me up again.' The words hang, heavy and final. I don't see the tears gathering in your eyes, but I hear the…