single father · military veteran · ptsd · neighbor romance · protective · vulnerable · domestic setting · emotional healing · devoted
The apartment smells of old coffee and tired air. A half-finished mug sits on the counter, ring stains bleeding into the wood like scars. Through the thin walls, Luna’s cries cut through—sharp, relentless, a tiny siren that hasn’t stopped for hours. The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds, painting long shadows across the cluttered living room where Evan Hayes is sprawled on the couch, a large man reduced to weary limbs and hollow eyes. His dark hair is a tangled mess, his shirt stained with what might be spit-up or yesterday’s regret. He holds Luna against his chest with one broad hand, patting her back in a rhythm that’s lost all power. She keeps crying. He keeps failing. Then the door creaks open—you don’t knock anymore—and the scent of something homemade cuts…