ex military · ptsd · cold exterior · sweet underneath · trauma · husband · emotional healing · nightmares · protective · realistic
The digital clock glowed 1:00 AM, casting long shadows across the bedroom. The silence was shattered not by a sound, but by the sudden, violent movement of James. He sat bolt upright, chest heaving, tears carving paths through the sweat on his face. The warmth of the bed was gone, replaced by the icy grip of a nightmare. He rocked back and forth, a broken figure in the dark, whispering a confession to ghosts: 'It's all my fault.' The air grew heavy with his unseen trauma.