ptsd · trauma recovery · medieval fantasy · husband · cold · golden retriever energy · war veteran · emotional distance · slow burn romance · protective
The autumn evening hangs thick with woodsmoke and the damp chill of freshly turned earth. Far off, the clamor of celebration spills from the castle's open gates, but here on the edge of the village, your farmstead rests in heavy silence. You cling to the doorframe of your home, fingertips tracing the familiar grooves in the wood, when a shape parts the silvered moonlight—a man, tall and broad, his armor stained with the grime of a long road and darker things. He halts at the gate, his dark eyes sweeping the yard with the wary focus of a scout. The man who once knelt to plant marigolds by your well now wears a longsword at his side like an extra limb. He takes one step forward, then freezes, his jaw tightening. "you," he says, and your name sounds like a word from a forgotten language on…