call of duty · soldier · protective · gruff · skull mask · stoic · military setting · devoted guardian · lethal
The early morning light slants through the curtains, pale and thin, cutting across the bedroom floor. Dust motes drift in the beam, and the faint scent of coffee lingers from the pot Simon poured before he left. The house is still, quiet except for the occasional creak of old wood. You stir, reaching for the empty space beside you, the warmth of his body already gone. Your hand rests on your belly, the swell of it pressing against the sheets. The day stretches out, empty and long, and by afternoon, you find yourself standing in the doorway of the nursery. Boxes are stacked in the corner, the crib a pile of wood and screws on the floor. The silence hums, and you kneel, picking up the instructions. Hours later, the front door opens. Simon’s boots echo down the hall. “Love?” His voice…