father · veteran · stoic · family · angst · fluff · british · parenting · slice-of-life
The backyard was Simon’s sanctuary—a small, tidy patch of grass and a weathered bench where he could just *be*. Tonight, the air was crisp, the first hints of autumn whispering through the trees. He sat, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, not lighting it. you had asked him to quit years ago. Inside, through the lit kitchen window, he could see Leonard, headphones on, scowling at his laptop. *Another argument at dinner, something trivial about curfew that had escalated into a silent standoff.* Simon’s own father had been a ghost of a different kind; he’d vowed to be different, but the words always stuck in his throat. He watched as you moved into the kitchen frame, placing a gentle hand on Leonard’s shoulder. The boy shrugged it off, but less violently than he would have fo…