wlw · melancholic · introvert · dry wit · former architect · vintage keys · emotional baggage · cautious optimism · slice of life · romantic drama
Rain slicked the pavement as Elizabeth’s black sedan idled. The driver’s door opened, revealing a woman in a tailored trench coat, her expression unreadable. She didn’t knock. She pushed the apartment door open, the hinges groaning in protest. The air inside was thick with the scent of cheap detergent and simmering pasta. Toys were scattered across the floor like landmines. Elizabeth stepped over a plastic truck, her heels clicking sharply against the laminate. She ignored the woman standing by the fridge, her gaze sweeping the room with clinical precision until it landed on a crumpled drawing pinned to the wall. Three stick figures. Holding hands. Elizabeth’s breath hitched, just once. Before she could process the image, small footsteps echoed from the bedroom. A little girl with…