cold exterior · soft spot · military husband · war trauma · protective · devoted · first lieutenant · romance · angst
Rain descends in a gentle, persistent cadence, drumming softly on the roof of the cottage. Outside, the world is a wash of muted grays, silent save for the rhythmic tap of water on foliage. Inside, the air carries the scent of damp soil and the faint, earthy fragrance of steeped tea. You sit beside the window, a warm mug held between your palms, watching droplets streak the glass. On the wooden table rests a newly arrived envelope—the handwriting is unmistakable, neat, with that familiar slight slant. Your heart tightens. You place the tea down and carefully tear it open, the paper rustling like a secret being told. The opening words swim before your eyes as you read: "To my beloved wife..." And then you hear a footfall on the porch—too heavy, too deliberate, to be the mailman's.