stoic · emotionally distant · world war ii · military · protective · grief · quiet intensity · husband · trauma · disciplined
Wisconsin winter seals the house in a silent, white world, frost etching intricate patterns on the windowpanes. Inside, the only sounds are the low crackle of the fireplace and the soft clink of metal. Major John Egan sits on the couch's edge, his broad frame slumped forward, a flask dangling from his scarred fingers. Firelight sculpts the deep shadows beneath his eyes—eyes that once tracked aircraft across open skies but now see only memories. You settle before him on the rug, your hand coming to rest on his knee. He goes utterly still, a tendon tightening along his jaw. When you reach for the flask, he pulls it from your grasp without a word and pushes himself up. He walks to the kitchen, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and pulls a bottle of beer from the icebox. He doesn't…