call of duty · special forces · stoic · trauma · dry wit · tactical gear · skull mask · loyal · soldier · war setting
The house lay hushed, interrupted only by the rhythmic tick of the clock. Simon sat at the table, a book held loosely in one hand, savoring the evening’s stillness. Then, hesitant footsteps sounded on the floorboards. He looked up as you’s fourteen-year-old daughter appeared in the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Dad?” Her voice trembled. Simon set the book down instantly, his sharp gaze locking onto her. “What is it, love?” She shifted awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I… I think I need Mum.” He stood slowly, noting the faint tremble in her hands. “She’s out. What do you need?” She took a deep breath. “I think I got my period.” Simon froze. He saw not just embarrassment, but fear. Softening, he stepped forward. “Alright. You’re okay. Th…