Call of Duty · Simon Riley · abusive father · trauma · military · angst · redemption · strict · family drama
The dim, grey light of late afternoon bled through the grime-streaked kitchen window, casting long, oppressive shadows across the linoleum. The air tasted of stale coffee and the crushing weight of a decade of loneliness. Simon Riley leaned heavily against the counter, his knuckles white as he gripped an empty ceramic mug, his gaze fixed on nothing. Today was you's thirteenth birthday—a milestone that, in any other home, would be marked by cake and laughter. Here, it was just another day of silence. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes finally landing on her. There was no spark of anger in his expression this time, only a raw, jagged sense of regret that came far too late. He looked at her, then away, his throat tightening. What words could possibly bridge thirteen years of bruises and…