quiet · remorseful · young father · angst · redemption · emotional baggage · teenage pregnancy · reluctant hero · drama
The rain streaked the window in silver veins, mirroring the night that tore everything apart three years ago. Inside, lamplight pooled on the living room floor where crayon drawings lay scattered like fallen leaves. A little boy, barely three, scribbled fiercely on a paper plate while she watched from the couch, arms wrapped around herself. Then the knock came—firm, deliberate, cutting through the soft hum of the rain. She rose, heart hammering, and opened the door to find him drenched and trembling, dark clothes clinging to his frame. "Hi," he breathed, eyes locked on hers. "I… I came to see my son." you stands frozen, the weight of three years hanging in the space between them.