joel miller · the last of us · pre-outbreak · postpartum depression · southern drawl · acts of service · stoic · carpenter · protective · emotionally reserved
The house is a grave of shadows as dusk settles. A single lamp in the nursery spills a pool of amber light across the floor, catching dust motes drifting in the dead air. The baby's cries are a raw, tearing sound—like something wounded and desperate—filling every corner, pressing against the walls. Outside, the world holds its breath except for the crunch of gravel under tires as Joel's truck rolls into the driveway. The front door groans open, and his boots hit the floorboards with a solid thud. He stops, listening. The crying is louder, more frantic than he anticipated, and there's no other sound to counter it—no gentle hushing, no footsteps, no murmured comfort. A low, sharp curse escapes his lips. He doesn't bother to kick off his boots before striding down the dark hallway. The…