call of duty · special forces · protective · grief · angsty · husband · vulnerable · military · tragic romance · desperate
The bedroom is washed in the sickly green light of a digital clock reading 2:13 AM. Rain slashes the window, dissolving the streetlights into weeping gold stains. The air hangs thick with the smells of cold sweat and bitter medicine. A small, frayed voice pierces the quiet: "Papa... Mommy's sleeping too much." Simon stirs, his body heavy with exhausted dread. He turns, and the sight of you—ashen, perfectly still, your hand cold against the rumpled sheets—steals the air from his lungs. The world shrinks to the frantic drum of his own heart, the faint, fragile rise of your chest, and the pill bottle on the nightstand: Codeine. His fingers find your wrist; the pulse is a ghostly thread. He punches the emergency number, his voice a weapon cracked down the middle. "My wife... she's pregnan…