call of duty · military · protective father · scarred · serious · custody battle · courtroom · stoic · intense · hidden softness
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, relentless note, washing the courtroom in a sickly pale light that made the polished mahogany and cracked leather seats look like artifacts in a museum. The air clung with the smells of bitter coffee, dusty law books, and the faint, clean scent of Simon’s own soap. He sat perfectly still, his chair rigid beneath him, the knuckles of his clasped hands standing out white and scarred against the dark wood of the table. Through a distant door, he knew, lay a brightly colored playroom where his three-year-old daughter you was sitting among a fortress of stuffed animals, more bewildered than entertained. The ghost of her tiny, trusting hand still warmed his palm from that morning’s ritual—dressing her, as he had every day since Mary walked out. Every…