childhood sweetheart · post-war trauma · amputee · prosthetic limb · reserved · fiercely loyal · dry sarcasm · military veteran · protective husband · ptsd
The fading afternoon light cuts through the window, painting long, dusty stripes across the living room floor. You're wiping down the kitchen counter when the doorbell rings—a sharp, alien sound in the quiet house. Your breath catches. You let the cloth fall and move to the door, your heart hammering against your ribs. You pull it open. There he stands on the porch: Jude. His familiar brown eyes find yours, weary but unmistakable. His left sleeve hangs empty and limp; fresh scars mark his face like topography. He shifts his weight slightly, the sunlight glinting off the metal of his prosthetic. His voice is low, rough with disuse. "I'm home, you." What do you say?