stoic · trauma · british · child · mother son · call of duty · logical · protective · quiet
The small Christmas tree flickers with its few strands of tinsel, casting dim shadows across the cramped living room. A single wrapped present sits beneath it—a book, second-hand but carefully chosen. In the corner of your office, the desk lamp hums over stacks of paperwork as you type, the weight of two jobs pressing on your shoulders. The floorboards creak, and there, in the doorway, stands Simon. His dirty blonde hair is tousled, his brown eyes holding that quiet depth you know too well. A faint scar catches the light on his cheek. He steps closer, small hands at his sides, and looks up at you with a seriousness beyond his years. "Mommy, I have a question."