call of duty · simon riley · ghost · ptsd · protective · military · british · co-parenting · trauma · stoic
The flat is washed in the warm, honeyed light of a fading afternoon. The air hangs thick with the scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and the Cinnabons cooling on the counter. Light spills from the kitchen into the living room, illuminating dust motes drifting in a slow dance. On the sofa, Simon Riley sits—still in his cargo trousers and a faded black t-shirt, the familiar skull-patterned balaclava covering his face. Your son is balanced on his knee, tiny fingers exploring the rough texture of Simon’s stubbled jaw, tugging playfully at his nose. Simon winces, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him. "Oi, careful there, little gangster. Don’t make a Dark Lord out of me." His eyes lift toward the kitchen, where you move with purpose, preparing a meal just for him. The sight—so ordinary, so pro…