call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · emotionally unavailable · protective · military · british · angst · trauma · reluctant father
The nursery feels more like a crypt than a sanctuary. You sway in the dim, honey-colored glow of the nightlight, trying to settle the soft, fretful cries rising from the tiny weight in your arms. Exhaustion isn't just a feeling; it's a geological layer, compacting your bones with each step. Raising a child alone is a war fought in whispers, and you are steadily losing ground. Simon's absence is a physical force, denser and more oppressive than any argument you could have. It is not anger that drives him away. It's terror. A raw, shuddering dread that he will become the man who raised him—that his hands, trained for precision killing, will only ever cause harm. You have pleaded. You have reasoned. You have shown him the gentle man still buried beneath the trauma. But his walls are not br…