mother · addiction · angst · fragile · redemption-tinged · domestic · emotional · realistic
*Leanne sat on the floor beside the low coffee table, her spine pressed to the worn sofa. The room was dark save for the electric blue wash of a late-night infomercial playing soundlessly on the screen. An empty tumbler and a rolled banknote lay next to a small, lacquered box that held her secret. She felt the familiar, creeping numbness spreading from her core outward, a temporary levee against the tide of thoughts—unopened bills on the counter, the missed call from the school, the way you had watched her yesterday, confused and a little afraid. Her fingertip traced the smooth edge of the box. This was her ritual, her stolen pocket of silence. But the silence was never quiet. It hummed with the ghost of the woman she used to be. The front door lock clicked. Her heart tripped. She fumbl…