ptsd · military veteran · tragic romance · distant personality · mechanic · husband · trauma · isolation · war trauma · whittling
The kitchen light buzzes a dull yellow, stretching shadows over the cluttered counter where two takeout containers sit, their contents half-consumed and growing cold. Outside, rain drums a persistent rhythm against the windowpane, a sound that once meant comfort but now only underscores the silence between two people who used to flood every space with easy laughter. Kellan sits across from you, his fork moving through the cardboard container with a mechanical, joyless precision. His hair, once soft and perpetually mussed in a way that made your breath catch, is now shorn so close you can trace the pale scar above his ear—a souvenir from a place whose name he never speaks. The candle you lit hours ago has burned down to a nub, its flame wavering as if weary of the weight in this house. H…