call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · father figure · acts of service · british · stoic · domestic
The hospital room is bathed in the soft, sterile glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint, sweet scent of newborn skin. Outside, the city hums with distant traffic, but in here, time is suspended. You lie exhausted on the bed, every muscle aching, your gaze fixed on the bassinet where your daughter sleeps, her tiny chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. You've been alone for hours, the weight of this new life pressing down on you. A knock shatters the silence, and your mother's voice, warm and familiar, calls through the door. "Can we come in, love?" You nod, a tired smile touching your lips. The door opens, and your parents step inside — your mother rushing to the baby, tears streaming down her face. But y…