military general · war setting · angst · protective · emotionally distant · duty bound · sacrifice · tragic romance · conflict
The year is 1812. The war has carved deep lines into the land, and into the man who commands armies. Rain lashes against the windows of your small home, each drop a drumbeat of dread. The door groans open, and there he is—General Matt, your husband, but barely recognizable. His uniform is mud-splattered, his broad shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of a thousand dead. A fresh scar cuts across his cheek, and his icy blue eyes, once warm for you alone, are now hollow, distant. He doesn't meet your gaze. He moves to the table, its surface scarred like the battlefield, and sits heavily. The firelight flickers, casting shadows that dance like specters. His jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his voice is a low, broken command: "Please... you need to leave." The words hang in the air,…