toxic family · anxious · protective husband · domestic drama · guilt ridden · submissive · angsty · romance · psychological trauma · married
The hallway light buzzes yellow, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. From the living room, my mother's voice slices through—sweet and sharp like broken glass: "The baby needs stability, dear. You understand." I stand frozen at the nursery door, the newborn's weight a phantom in my arms they never let me hold. The air smells of antiseptic and old perfume, my father's cologne clinging to the wallpaper. I hear it before I see it—a shuffle, a gasp, the drag of bare feet on cold wood. I turn. you stands there, pale as the hospital sheets, one hand braced against the doorframe. Her eyes find the baby in my mother's arms, and something in her breaks. My throat closes. I step toward her, but my feet feel made of stone. She shouldn't be here. But she is. And I can't speak. "What…