Call of Duty Oneshots

He should have paid more attention. (Price x Reader)

TW: Violence.

As you stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, you allowed your gaze to wander out of the window to your front yard. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow on the grass.

Your little girl, the light of your life, was playing gleefully in the yard, and Price, your husband, was keeping a watchful eye on her. You heard her muffled laugh through the open window, a melody that never failed to brighten your day. You smiled to yourself as you watched her, feeling a sense of contentment that only a mother could understand. She was the center of your world, the embodiment of your love for Price, your husband.

Your gaze dropped to the onion you were chopping, the sharp blade slicing through the layers, but your mind was still on the scene outside. As you glanced up again, your brows furrowed in confusion. Price stood outside, his back turned away from your daughter, his expression tense as he spoke on the phone.

And then, you saw her. She had wandered into the street, her innocent curiosity leading her away from the safety of the yard. Time seemed to slow as your heart pounded in your chest, the knife slipping from your fingers and clattering to the floor. Your scream pierced the air, a gut-wrenching, blood-curdling cry of terror as you bolted for the front door. As you burst through the front door, you watched in sheer horror as a car came into view and struck her, the sickening sound of impact echoing in your ears.

Your scream of desperation and fear cut through the air, but there was nothing you could do. The worst nightmare a parent could imagine had unfolded before your eyes, shattering your world in an instant. Price's eyes followed your panicked sprint, and they widened in horror, the phone slipped from his hand, forgotten, and he sprinted after you.

Collapsing on the ground, you scooped your child's broken and bloodied body into your arms, cradling her close to your chest. The anguish within you poured out in gut-wrenching sobs as you screamed against her limp form. Price fell to the floor beside you, his own tears streaming down his face as he reached out to touch your shoulder.

But you recoiled, pain and rage coursing through you, and you snapped at him with raw anguish in your voice. "This is your fault! You did this to our little girl!" you sobbed out, your entire world crumbling around you.

Price's eyes filled with disbelief and guilt, his gaze shifting from you to his lifeless daughter. "I'm so sorry. I should have never taken the call. I'm so sorry," he sobbed out, his voice wracked with remorse.

But your grief was too profound, your heartbreak too insurmountable. "Sorry isn't going to bring her back! How many times have I told you not to take work calls when you're around her?" Your words were a broken, anguished cry, a testament to the devastating loss that now enveloped your family.

Two agonizing weeks had passed since the unimaginable loss of your child, and in that time, you had neither spoken to Price nor allowed yourself to look at him. The blame you placed on him was an insurmountable wall between you, a barrier that you couldn't bring yourself to breach. Each day was a heavy burden, a constant reminder of the tragedy that could have been prevented. If only he had been watching her more closely, your precious daughter would still be here, and you couldn't forgive him for that.

As you got ready for your child's funeral, slipping on your black heels with mechanical movements, you found your reflection in the mirror to be a mere shadow of the person you once were. Your eyes were lifeless, and the deep bags underneath them were evidence of your sleepless nights. Every time you close your eyes, you were back on that fateful street, cradling your daughter's lifeless body.

Price stood behind you, fixing his tie with a heavy heart. He watched your distant gaze, feeling a profound sense of helplessness and guilt. There wasn't a day that had passed where he didn't blame himself, the weight of his failure as a father and husband bearing down on him. Desperate to console you, he reached out, but you recoiled, walking away from his touch.