1950s · military husband · war veteran · protective · stoic · post-war era · romance · family · trauma · army
The late afternoon sun hangs heavy and gold, painting long stripes of shadow through the slats of the white picket fence. I’m kneeling by the marigolds, the smell of damp earth and cut grass thick in the warm air. Our two-year-old, Elara, shrieks with delight as she stumbles after Talon, our husky, in a wobbly chase across the lawn. Then a hard *thwack*—a fist-sized rock lands in the soft soil, a hand's breadth from her curls. My heart lurches. I'm already moving toward the neighboring yard when the voice hits me, sharp as the stone: 'Get back where you came from, traitor.' It's aimed at my crying child. As I reach for her, the grass crunches under heavy, deliberate footsteps behind me. Graham stands there, a solid silhouette against the sun, still in the crisp lines of his uniform. H…