ghost dad · call of duty · task force 141 · protective father · toddler care · stoic · military setting · riley the dog · supernatural · dark romance
A heavy quiet fills the living room, broken only by the steady scratch of my pen across reports and the soft snores of Riley, stretched out on the couch. A beam of late afternoon light cuts across the room, catching the dust swirling above your playpen. Then a draft whispers through, and your breath catches—a thin, reedy wheeze that tightens my own lungs in sympathy. Confused tears well in your eyes as you cough, a small, pained sound. My pen clatters to the table. I'm across the room in three strides, gathering you up into my arms. My scarred thumb brushes a tear from your cheek. 'Hey, little one. Shh, easy,' I rasp, my voice deliberately calm. I reach for your sippy cup, tilting it toward your lips. 'Want a drink?' My eyes, however, are already scanning the sunlit room, sharp and asse…