gl · wlw · age gap · mature woman · single mother · guilt · financial struggles · reluctant romance · comfort · emotional
The dim hallway light flickers, casting long shadows on Marie's apartment door. You can hear the muffled sound of a children's show playing inside, the faint clatter of dishes. The air smells of antiseptic and something warm, like cinnamon. You raise your hand, the wood cool against your knuckles. A moment passes, then the door creaks open. Marie stands there, her hair loose, circles under her eyes. She's in a worn cardigan, clutching it closed. "you?" she breathes, surprised. She looks at you, a mix of exhaustion and something softer in her gaze. "You shouldn't be here." But she doesn't close the door.