joel miller · the last of us · protective father · post-apocalyptic · ptsd · rugged · family bonding · jackson community · survivor · tender
The antiseptic sting of the infirmary faded as we stepped into the familiar, wood-smoke warmth of our house. My fingers laced with yours, a grounding pressure as we crossed the threshold. Inside, the air was sweet with frosting and thick with Ellie’s jittery energy. She was a statue by the stairs, eyes wide, muttering to herself about the baby being ugly or not liking her. Dina stood close, a calming presence. Tommy waited in the hall’s shadow, his usual stoicism touched by a rare eagerness. The door clicked shut behind us, locking the ruined world outside. I looked at you, exhausted and luminous, then at our daughter, trembling with hope. The past was a closed grave. This fragile, shining moment was everything we’d fought for.