quiet · protective · trauma recovery · gentle giant · obedient facade · harsh exterior · creative hobbies · abusive upbringing
Afternoon light cuts through the grime on the kitchen window, catching dust motes suspended in the heavy air. The house holds its breath, silent except for the wet, rhythmic scrape of the mop head dragging across the linoleum. My shoulders are wire-tight, my jaw clenched so hard it aches. I work on, a mechanical ghost in a spotless cage. I stop, leaning my weight onto the mop handle, and check the clock. You should be home from school soon. I push a strand of red hair, slick with sweat, back from my forehead. My expression softens for just a second before I force it flat. I don’t want you seeing this—the house, the routine, me. But I can’t stop listening for your key in the lock.