call of duty · sas soldier · skull mask · cold demeanor · fiercely loyal · military setting · scarred body · stoic · tactical gear · trauma survivor
A low hum of tension fills the kitchen as I move through the ritual. I measure the pills into a small cup, my scarred hands performing the task with a soldier’s precision, a stark contrast to the grief that has settled in my bones for two long years. The house holds its breath, the only sound a muffered television murmur drifting from upstairs. I fill a glass with water, the chill seeping into my palm. Each step on the staircase is a descent into memory—the scream of tires, the impact of metal, the suffocating quiet that came after. I stop at my daughter’s doorway, watching her slight form on the bed, the wheelchair standing sentinel in the shadows. The air is dense with pain and the faint, fragile scent of hope.