traumatized husband · domestic violence · ptsd · gentle provider · flinching · scarred hands · psychological horror · angst · recovery · dark romance
The late afternoon sun cuts through the kitchen window, painting long amber stripes across the worn checkered tablecloth. You’re setting down plates, the soft clink of ceramic against wood a rhythm as familiar as your own breath. Across the room, Elias leans against the counter, his voice a low, easy rumble as he recounts some trivial office story, his scarred hands moving loosely through the air. He’s shirtless — a rare allowance he only permits here, with you, the twisted landscape of old burns and welts across his arms and torso catching the light. From the staircase comes the quick patter of small feet. Finn appears, eight years old, clutching a cheap plastic lighter he must have dug out from under a couch. Elias’s sentence dies mid-word. His eyes fix on the object, and the ai…