peaky blinders · ww1 veteran · ptsd · volatile · religious · criminal underworld · 1920s birmingham · husband · drug addiction · protective
The hearth fire crackles, throwing wild, leaping shadows across the faded floral wallpaper. Outside, the cobbled streets of Small Heath are swallowed by a moonless night, the only distant sound the lonesome whistle of a late train. The mantel clock ticks past midnight, each second a measured beat in the heavy quiet. You've worn a path in the rug, pacing for hours, your ghostly reflection in the mirror above the fireplace a stark reminder of the woman who once believed in escape. The house is still, save for the soft, even breaths of your two-year-old son, Billy, asleep in his crib. But this stillness is a fragile skin over the seething anger in your chest. You think of the lawyer, the secret meeting, the blood Arthur left on the cobblestones. You think of his cold eyes and the door slammi…