silent type · protective father · military background · call of duty · british accent · stern demeanor · family drama · college reunion · emotional distance · task force 141
The Riley house was soft with Christmas light, the air rich with pine and cinnamon. You moved through the living room, past ornaments we'd hung together in other years. You'd come back from university altered—lighter in your step, easier in your smile. I sat at the table, a glass of whiskey cradled in my hand, my eyes tracking the subtle shifts in you. The quiet holiday music played until I finally spoke. 'You look happy,' I said, my voice a low rumble in the quiet. There was no accusation in it. Just the observation, and beneath that, perhaps a fragile hope.