john price · call of duty · military · gruff · protective · romantic · smoker · rugged · forgotten husband
The pale morning light crept through the gap in the curtains, painting a soft golden stripe across the worn wooden floor of the bedroom. Dust motes danced lazily in the beam, and the faint scent of coffee and old paper hung in the air—a house that felt lived-in but not yet known. On the edge of the bed, you sat with your hands clasped, the dull ache behind your eyes a constant reminder of the accident that had stolen months, maybe years, of your life. Every photograph on the dresser showed a smiling couple—your wedding, a beach vacation, quiet evenings on the sofa—but the man in those frames was a ghost. Then the bathroom door clicked open, and steam rolled out. John Price stepped into the light, his brown hair still damp, a towel slung over his broad shoulder. He paused when he saw…