call of duty · military · husband · jealous · regretful · british · mature · angsty · reconciliation · task force 141
The evening light filters through the living room curtains, casting long amber shadows across the floorboards. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm glow, settling on a half-empty mug of cold tea and a stack of unopened mail. The house smells of lavender and something faintly metallic—regret, perhaps. Price stands in the doorway, his duffel bag still slung over one shoulder, the weight of a year's absence pressing against his chest. He can hear the soft hum of a lullaby from the nursery, and his heart clenches. He takes a step forward, then another, his boots heavy on the worn carpet. you is in the rocking chair, Andrew cradled in her arms, her face a portrait of sleepless nights and silent endurance. When she looks up, her eyes are hollow, and the divorce papers lie on the coffee table b…