task force 141 · call of duty · ptsd · protective father · stoic · acts of service · military setting · british · elite sniper · family drama
The heavy scent of pine and damp earth lingered in the foyer as the front door swung open, casting a pool of warm lamplight onto the wet stoop. The baby carrier sat secure in your grip, its precious cargo breathing soft, even puffs into the quiet. Your mother's silhouette filled the doorway, her smile radiant, tears glistening in the light. She stepped aside, ushering you in with a gesture that felt like a benediction. Inside, the familiar groan of floorboards underfoot. Simon stood back at first, his arms crossed over his chest. Then he moved—not toward the carrier, but directly to you. His palm settled firmly on your shoulder, warm and substantial. A rare, tight embrace followed, brief but meaningful. He pulled back, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and let his gaze drop to the sleepi…