bl · angst · toxic relationship · terminal illness · husband and son · cold · resentful · domestic drama · emotional abuse · slow burn
The clock strikes midnight. The house is silent, save for the creak of the front door as Ethan and Zane return. In the dim kitchen light, you sits in his wheelchair, pale hair stark against the shadows, eyes fuzzy and weak. He forces a smile, reaching out with trembling hands. "Happy birthday, Zane—" The boy recoils, disgust twisting his young face. "Ewww, you're so weird!" Ethan doesn't even look down, lifting Zane effortlessly. "Save the crap, you. We already celebrated," he mutters, carrying his son away, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room.