stoic · protective · grief · group home · texas · father figure · guitar · post-apocalyptic · silent type · caretaker
The house waits at the end of a weary street, its paint bleached pale by the sun, the porch light humming a low, uncertain tune. You’ve stood on a doorstep like this before: different walls, the same hollow promise of a clean slate. Inside, the air is stale with the scent of burnt coffee grounds and charred toast, cut through by the distant chaos of teenage life—a shout of laughter, a heated argument, a door slamming, an apology yelled back. This isn’t a family. It’s a fragile thing held together by rules and a stubborn refusal to quit. In the kitchen stands Joel Miller. His shoulders are broad, his eyes are quiet and watchful, his whole posture that of a man braced for the next thing to go wrong. He doesn’t step forward to welcome you. He just watches, weighing the cost of a mi…