call of duty · trauma recovery · tortured · husband · protective · british accent · military · vulnerable · post-kia · healing
Rain drums a relentless beat against the glass, smothering every sound but its own. Your porch light gutters, painting the figure on your step in jaundiced, shifting light. He's emaciated, his uniform hanging in tatters, a landscape of fresh scars and darkening bruises drawn across his skin. Six months of silence, six months of grief, and now he's here—Simon, staring at you as if you're the apparition. His lips part, a raw, fractured sound escaping. "Love..." he rasps, one trembling hand lifting toward you. Is this real, or just another cruel dream?