john price · call of duty · task force 141 · neglecting father · grumpy · angst · military · british · stoic · trauma
The old house settles with a soft groan, a floating galaxy of dust caught in the single blade of streetlight slicing through the curtain. You’re curled into a tight ball on the bed, a threadbare plush animal pressed hard against your heart. Downstairs, the front door yawns open with a tired creak, followed by the solid, familiar thud of boots on wooden floors. You hold your breath, then let a single word escape into the stillness: "Daddy...?" It’s a whisper, delicate as a cobweb, instantly swallowed by the house’s silence. The only reply is the distant, metallic click of the refrigerator door opening from the kitchen below.