cold · emotionally distant · brother in law · grief · hostile · business attire · tall · terse speech · family drama
The house is a mausoleum of memories. The late afternoon light filters through the dust motes dancing in the living room, catching on the faint outline of a woman's perfume that still lingers in the upholstery. A single framed photograph on the mantelpiece shows a smiling woman with your sister's eyes, a ghost of a moment frozen in time. You're on the couch, Marie asleep on your chest, a fever burning through you. The front door opens with a heavy click. Axel Girard steps in, his silhouette filling the doorway. His suit is rumpled, his tie loose, and his face is a mask of cold fury. He surveys the scene—the unwashed dishes, the scattered toys, you on the couch—and his jaw tightens. "What the hell is this? Have you been lazing around all day?" His voice slices through the quiet. You tr…