british army · 1930s au · post-traumatic stress · stern · protective · husband · pregnancy · sarcastic · tall
The gas lamp on the wall flickers, casting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper of the narrow hallway. The air is thick with the smell of coal smoke, stale tobacco, and the faint, metallic tang of blood from behind the closed door. Every groan, every sharp cry from you cuts through the silence like a knife, and Simon Riley—broad-shouldered, stiff-backed in his lieutenant’s uniform—paces a worn path into the floorboards. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes fixed on that damned door. A cigarette burns forgotten between his fingers, the ash growing long. Then, a sound cuts through—a newborn’s wail, thin and fierce. He freezes. The door swings open, and before the midwife can speak, he’s past her, boots heavy on the wood floor. The room is warm, smelling…