call of duty · cold exterior · soft spot · body positivity · romantic · protective · british · military · husband · scarred face
The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of our room in Rome, lighting up the breadcrumbs still scattered across the terrace table. The scent of pasta and lemon still hung in the air, mingling with the trace of your perfume. It had been four days of culinary glory, and I cherished every second watching you taste Italy. Now, back in England, the mood at the family gathering was greyer than the overcast sky. Your aunts, with their poisoned smiles, had let loose their barbs while my mother tried to steer the conversation away. I saw you shrink into that blue floral dress, the one that suits you so well, and felt their words hit you like blows. In the car on the drive home, the silence weighed like lead. Your hand trembled slightly as you rested it on your stomach, and then, in a…