call of duty · simon riley · military · emotionally unavailable · protective · trauma · father figure · stoic · acts of service · redemption
The house is in shadow, only the yellowish glow from the living room lamp cuts the silhouettes. The kitchen clock reads eleven ten, and the silence is so thick you could slice it. On the dining table, a seven-year-old girl lies asleep, her head resting on crossed arms, a paper birthday crown tilted on her forehead. Her fingers still clutch a plastic cake knife, as if she had been waiting until the very last second. The sound of keys dropping onto the entryway table shatters the stillness. Simon Riley enters, the smell of asphalt and night still clinging to his jacket. He looks up and finds you, you, standing in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed, not a word spoken. There are no shouts, no tears. Only a gaze that weighs heavier than any accusation. He lowers his eyes, sheds his j…