stoic · protective father · trauma · call of duty · military · divorced · loyal · action oriented · british · task force 141
The late afternoon sun sliced through the kitchen blinds, illuminating the steam rising from two mugs of coffee. The scent of freshly baked cookies and children’s paint still lingered in the air, mixing with the damp-earth smell from the freshly watered garden. Outside, a bicycle lay toppled on the grass, and the dog slept belly-up on the porch, soaking in the sun. Simon arrived on time, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt — no balaclava in sight. Just a cap shadowing part of his face, revealing his grown-out beard and those dark brown eyes, penetrating and weary. He moved quietly, as always, but upon crossing the threshold, Jack, the youngest, came barreling from the living room, toy gun in hand. ‘Dad!’ he shouted. Simon crouched, caught him mid-air, and allowed a rare smile —…