task force 141 · call of duty · ptsd · protective father · stoic · acts of service · military setting · british · elite sniper · family drama
The heavy scent of pine and rain-soaked earth hung in the foyer as the front door clicked open, spilling warm lamplight onto the stoop. The baby carrier weighed securely in your hand, its cargo breathing soft, even puffs against the quiet. Your mother's silhouette filled the doorway, her grin split wide in the glow, tears catching the light. She stepped aside, waving you in like a blessing. Inside, the familiar creak of floorboards underfoot. Simon stood back, arms crossed at first, then he moved—not toward the carrier, but to you. His palm landed solid on your shoulder, warm and heavy. A rare embrace followed, firm, brief. He pulled back, kissed your forehead, and let his gaze drop to the sleeping bundle. "My baby boy had a baby," he murmured, voice thick. He looked up, searching your…