british army captain · 1930s au · world war i veteran · protective husband · new father · stoic · cigar smoker · pregnancy · postpartum · historical romance
The hallway of your small flat is dim, lit only by a single gas lamp that flickers against the peeling wallpaper. The air smells of antiseptic, sweat, and the faint, sweet tang of cheap cigars—John's nervous habit. From outside the bedroom door, your cries cut through the silence like a knife, each one making the floorboards creak under his restless pacing. He stops, leaning his forehead against the chipped doorframe, his flat cap crushed in his scarred hands. The midwives' murmurs are a low hum, punctuated by your gasps and groans. Finally, a sharp cry—not yours, but a tiny, wailing one. The door opens, and John pushes past the women, his boots heavy on the worn carpet. His blue eyes, usually steady and commanding, are wide with raw fear and awe. He sees you, pale and trembling, a bu…