Then her mother—God, her mother’s laughter.Light, tinkling, carried across backyard cookouts with the smell of charcoal and beer in the air.That sound had been home once, as much as the uniform or the rifle or the flag ever was.And then, like so much else, it had been stolen.Not by death.By choice.By betrayal that cut deeper than shrapnel ever could.
And now, the daughter.His daughter.Their daughter.
I hadn’t seen Belle since she was just a kid—braids and scraped knees, the kind of smile that didn’t yet know the world could hurt you.I’d kept my distance on purpose.Too much history.Too many ghosts.Better for her not to remember me at all.
But the thought of her walking into my home now?Into this cold, scarred place that held the worst of me?It felt like fate twisting the knife.As if the universe couldn’t resist finding fresh ways to dig claws into old wounds.
She was supposed to be safe from all this.
From me.
And yet, here she was, her name carried on gossip like a storm rolling in.
I gripped the arm of my chair until the wood creaked.Belle.Little Belle.All grown up now, and coming straight for the monster on the edge of town.
I told myself I’d scare her off in five minutes.Ten, tops.
Wouldn’t be hard.One look at me, and she’d do what everyone else did—flinch, look away, scramble for the door.The scars did most of the work.The limp filled in the rest.Folks saw me and saw the wreckage, not the man.They always had.Why would she be any different?
I pictured it clear as day: her face going pale, her voice faltering, her hands fumbling to gather her things.She’d make some excuse, maybe promise to “come back another time,” but she wouldn’t.No one ever did.Not once they saw the truth of me.
That was the plan.Let her walk in, let her see, let her leave.Simple.Painless—at least for her.
But the lie of it sat heavy in my chest, because there was another part of me, the part I hated admitting even existed, that wanted more than that.
It was the part that still remembered her father’s grin out in the desert—sunburnt, sweat-streaked, stubborn as hell but never backing down.The kind of smile that could make you believe, even when everything around you was turning to ash.He’d been my brother in every way that mattered until the day he wasn’t.Until the betrayal.Until the bottom dropped out.
And now his daughter was coming to my door.
I wondered if she had her mother’s laugh still ringing in her memory, or her father’s bullheadedness running in her veins.
A sane man would have barred the door, sent word back to the council, told them to find another poor fool.But I wasn’t that man anymore, was I?No, I was the scarred-up relic who lived with ghosts and let the town paint him into a monster.
And yet, damn me, I wanted to see her.I wanted to see what she’d become.Maybe it was morbid curiosity.Maybe it was punishment.Or maybe it was some twisted scrap of hope I thought I’d buried long ago.
So yeah, I’d scare her off in five minutes.That was what I told myself.But deep down, I knew I’d open the door, anyway.
The knock jolted me hard enough that my coffee sloshed over the rim.For a second, I just sat there in the chair, staring at the door like it had no right to echo through my house.Nobody knocked here.Not unless they were lost, drunk, or foolish.
I thought about ignoring it.Let the volunteer freeze out there, let her march back to the council with complaints and wide eyes.That’d solve the problem, wouldn’t it?Door closed, life quiet again.Easy.
But the knocking came again, softer this time, almost patient.My jaw clenched.Damn fool girl.I dragged myself up, every step a reminder of old wounds, and gripped the knob with fingers that didn’t want to turn.
When the door finally creaked open, the cold rushed in first—sharp, biting.And then she was there.
Belle.
Bundled in a scarf too big for her, cheeks pink from the chill, eyes bright as a lantern in the dark.She looked like she’d walked straight out of another life, one I’d buried deep.Too much like her father—same shape of the face, same stubborn spark—but softer somehow.Brighter.It was enough to make the air hitch in my chest.
For a heartbeat, I saw a ghost.Him.Standing beside her, grinning that reckless grin.My gut twisted so hard I almost slammed the door right then.
But she just stood there, smiling like she’d been expected all along.And the strangest thing—she didn’t flinch.Didn’t drop her gaze to the floor, didn’t stare at the scars that marked me like a roadmap of mistakes.Her eyes stayed steady on mine.
That unsettled me more than pity ever could.
Pity I knew how to handle.A wince, a whispered “poor man,” a quick retreat—that I could live with.
But this?
