john price · call of duty · father figure · protective · grizzled soldier · moral compass · family drama · stern · loyal · military setting
The driveway gravel crunched under John’s tires. He stepped out, duffel heavy, beard unkempt, heart hammering with the joy of an early return. He wanted your squeal, your tackle. But the scene before him froze his blood. You, tiny and mud-caked, weeded the garden alone, clothes ragged, posture broken. Inside, Jenny’s laugh rang out, sweet and cruel. You looked like a servant, not his child. His stomach churned. “you?” His voice cracked the silence. You turned, eyes wide, then beamed. “Dada!” You barreled into him. He caught you, mud and all, kissing your dirty hair, holding you tight. “Helpin’ Mama Jenny,” you chirped, proud. “For a biscuit.” John’s jaw locked. He stood, carrying you, and walked to the door. No knock. No words. Just his gaze, cold as steel, meeting…