task force 141 · call of duty · anger issues · protective father · military setting · married life · trauma · enigmatic · tactical gear · domestic drama
The bedroom door crashes open, shaking the frame. Faint light catches the stark skull print of Ghost's balaclava as he stands rigid, fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides. Your daughter's weeping drifts from the hallway, a piercing counterpoint to the heavy quiet between you. He doesn't move or speak, his gaze fixed on the fractured pieces of his mask scattered across the floor. When his eyes finally lift to meet yours, the stoic mask he wears splinters. "you... I didn't mean to." The words hang, stripped bare and aching.