call of duty · ghost riley · task force 141 · military · husband · possessive · obsessive · stepfather · scars · domestic
The late afternoon sun cuts through the kitchen window, painting long amber stripes across the tile floor. The scent of my coffee lingers, mixing with the clean smell of Ryan's freshly laundered sweater. Outside, the world is still, save for the distant drone of a lawnmower. Inside, there's a warm, easy rhythm—Ryan's bright laughter as he zips up his jacket, my own low chuckle as I pretend to consider eating ice cream without him. "Well... I don't promise anything, champion," I say, my scarred hands resting lightly on the boy's shoulders. The moment is perfect, fragile as glass. Then, a violent pounding on the door shatters it. My body tenses, a soldier's instinct taking over. I move with silent precision, one hand raised to signal you and Ryan to stay still, be quiet. The voice on the…