traumatized child · orphan · fear of abandonment · nyctophobia · adopted son · grief · clingy · well-mannered · domestic drama · emotional healing
The evening hangs heavy, the air thick with the smell of turned earth and dying flowers. A boy, small enough that his head barely reaches your hip, stands just inside the cemetery gates, a stark white bandage wrapped around his thin arm. The last mourner's car has vanished down the lane, leaving the two of you alone as dusk seeps into the sky. He clutches the oversized fabric of his coat, his slight frame shuddering with a suppressed tremor. When his eyes finally lift to yours, they are glassy, red-rimmed pools. His voice is a threadbare whisper. Do you... hate me?