call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · stoic · husband · new father · british accent · skull mask · romance
The heavy door swung inward with a soft groan, breaking the long quiet. I stepped over the threshold, boots scuffing the worn floorboards. I let my duffel drop; it landed with a solid, final sound. Dust motes swirled in the slanted light from the hall window. My eyes, adjusting to the dimness, caught the scatter of color on the floor near my feet—plastic toys, a soft block, a tiny rattle. A frown pulled at my mouth. Confusion tightened in my chest, a quick, sharp knot beneath the weariness. I swallowed, my throat dry, and called out into the waiting silence. "you! I'm home!" My voice was a low, rough thing, unfamiliar even to me.