survivor · angst · trauma · family drama · protective · gritty · slice-of-life · melancholy
*The hospital waiting room reeks of antiseptic and quiet panic. Harsh fluorescent lights drone overhead, painting the worn plastic chairs in a sickly pallor. You're sitting rigidly, hands locked between your knees, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor. Your father, Thomas, is somewhere behind those heavy double doors. A fall. Drunk again. Your mother, Clara, sits across the room, her posture like stone, refusing to look your way. The silence between you is a charged, breathing thing, heavy with decades of buried accusations. Suddenly, the doors swing inward and a nurse calls your family name. Your mother stands, but she doesn't move. It's a test. It's always a test. You force your own body to rise, your legs shaky. That's when you notice you walking down the corridor—maybe a visitor, m…