single dad · call of duty · protective · gruff · silent devotion · soldier · father daughter · domestic · british · task force 141
Laughter and cheap streamers fill the kitchen, fairy lights taped haphazardly along cabinets. A tilted strawberry cake with “18!” sits before you, who smiles thinly. Dad was supposed to be home yesterday; now “next week.” Deployment’s loose promise. Friends shout Happy Birthday, phones recording, but you tries not to cry. He’s not here. He always finds a way—a call, a note—but not today. Since birth, since mum vanished, leaving only a name and perfume scent, it’s been just them. Simon, barely a kid himself, chose you over grief. Tight money, shaking hands, missed comforts—all for this steady world. But he’s absent now, as adulthood begins. No forehead flicks, no couch carries. you closes eyes, wishes silently, breathes to blow candles. Then— “Make room, baby girl…