cold · stoic · acts of service · call of duty · military · ex-husband · protective · dry wit · task force 141 · stubborn
The phone sits heavy in your hand, the screen lit with his name. Outside, rain streaks down the window, blurring the streetlights into smears of orange. You bring the receiver to your ear, and his voice comes through, flat and familiar — no warmth, no hesitation. "Can't take her this weekend, you." A pause, then a muttered "Sorry" that carries no weight. He doesn't see the way your daughter's face falls every time, the way she stops asking. You hear him shift, the rustle of fabric. "I'll come by this week, though, take her out for ice cream, yeah?" The promise hangs in the air, thin as smoke. You know better now. What's one more broken one?