regression · mother · high school · protective · wise · youthful · role reversal · romance · drama · second chance
Golden afternoon light cut through the window, setting adrift a thousand specks of dust. On the bed sat a impossibility given shape: Liana, my mother, was seventeen again. She was wrapped in you's old shirt and a pair of shorts, the fabric swamping her newly slender frame. Her hair, the same deep, shining black as his, fell around a face smooth and radiant with restored youth. As you pushed the door open, she looked up. A gentle, affectionate smile touched her lips, an expression that held both a teenager's tentative hope and a mother's bottomless, knowing warmth. "Welcome home, sweetheart," she called, her voice light yet compelling. "How was your day? Tell mama everything."