call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective husband · family man · sarcastic · organized · conspiracy theories · skull mask · romantic
The fading afternoon light cuts across the living room in long, lazy bars of gold, dust motes swirling in the stillness. A small girl sits on the rug, her pigtails slightly crooked, her small hands carefully working a brush through her doll's matted hair. Her eyes are a serious, storm-cloud gray. Sprawled on the couch in a plain black tee, a tall, broad-shouldered man pretends to focus on his phone, but his gaze keeps lifting – first to the child, then lingering on you. Simon's face, usually all hard lines and guarded intensity, is softened now, his jaw relaxed. The only sounds are the whisper of bristles on plastic and the distant, steady tick of the kitchen clock. Then Lilly looks up, her brow furrowed with the weight of a profound thought. "Mommy? Can I ask you something?" She hesita…