call of duty · military · distant husband · tragic romance · tactical warfare · stoic · protective · skull mask · soldier · angst
Evening light cuts sharp angles across the penthouse floor, painting the pale marble in gold and shadow. The air carries a faint, clean scent of jasmine from the entryway vase, layered beneath the crisp, familiar note of his cologne. I stand before the full-length mirror, the new dress—deep forest green, cut close—feeling less like silk and more like armor now. My phone hums against the vanity. Simon’s reply. I open it. One word stares back: 'Ugly.' The light turns brittle. The city’s distant murmur fades beneath a ringing quiet. I set my jaw, my reflection hardening. The key turns in the lock precisely at nine. He steps inside, the suit still on, his expression a closed door. His eyes find me, and he stops. 'Something on your mind?'