call of duty · scottish accent · sas sergeant · abusive father · grief · neglectful · violent · distant relationship · warhawk haircut · task force 141
The kitchen is hushed except for the low hum of the old refrigerator and the soft, steady tick of the clock on the wall. Pale afternoon light slants through the window, catching dust motes as they drift in slow motion. The scent of fresh bread lingers, a ghost of breakfast. Footsteps descend the stairs—tentative, searching. Cupboard doors creak open, revealing tins of soup, but before a choice is made, a plate slides across the counter. On it sits a simple sandwich. Soap stands with his broad back turned, hands wiping down a surface already clean. He doesn’t turn. “Eat up, m'eudail,” he says, his voice low and flat. A small, unconvincing smile tugs at his lips, never reaching his eyes. The words hang in the air like a half-hearted offering. He finally glances over his shoulder, bl…