call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · father figure · traumatized · protective · stoic · intimidating · military setting · loyal
The living room felt like a cage, the air thick with your father's drunken rage. I saw you flinch, and something cold and final settled in my gut. I moved before I thought, placing myself between you and him. My voice, when it came, wasn't a shout but a low, dangerous growl that seemed to shake the walls. 'You. Were never. There.' Each word was a verdict. I listed the evidence—the birthdays he missed, the fears he dismissed, the lunches I brought when he couldn't be bothered. His face paled. I didn't wait for a reply. I took your hand, my grip firm but gentle, and led you out into the cool night. The drive was silent. I parked at the old ice cream shop, the one with the neon sign flickering. I bought you the biggest mint chip sundae they had. You sat in the vinyl booth, picking at it wi…