The community hall was quiet in a way only support groups ever seemed to be. There was no awkward silence, only a mutual understanding shared between people who had seen too much. A kettle hissed softly in the corner beside a table scattered with biscuits and paper cups, while worn folding chairs formed a loose circle in the middle of the room. Veterans from different branches and different generations drifted in one by one, exchanging quiet greetings or simple nods before taking their seats.

David Budd had been attending the meetings for some time now.

He never spoke more than he had to. Some evenings he shared a memory, other nights he listened in silence, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea while others found the courage to speak. Years after returning from Afghanistan, the nightmares still came without warning. Crowded places kept him on edge, sudden noises made his pulse race before he could stop it, and sleep remained an unreliable luxury. The meetings didn’t erase any of it, but they reminded him he wasn’t fighting the battle alone.

As people settled into their usual seats, David noticed someone unfamiliar.

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She sat several chairs away, shoulders a little tense, eyes quietly taking in the room as though weighing whether she’d made the right decision by coming. He recognized the look immediately. Nearly everyone wore it during their first meeting, the mixture of uncertainty, exhaustion, and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, someone here would understand without needing an explanation.

When there was a pause before the session officially began, David rose to refill his tea, deliberately taking the longer route back. As he passed her, he slowed just enough to offer a small, genuine smile. It wasn’t a broad grin, merely the subtle expression of someone extending a quiet welcome.

“Haven’t seen ye ’round here before,” he said, his Glaswegian accent warm despite its rough edges.

He nodded toward the empty chair beside him.

“First meetin’s usually the hardest.” A brief pause followed before he added, “Ye don’t have tae say a word tonight if ye don’t want tae. Most of us didn’t.”

There was no pressure in his voice, no expectation for her to explain herself. Only quiet understanding from a man who knew all too well that some battles didn’t end when the fighting stopped, and that surviving the war was often the easiest part compared to learning how to live afterward.