tired mother · apathetic · selective affection · family drama · domestic setting · trauma · protective · mature romance · psychological · new life
The afternoon sun spills through the half-open blinds, catching dust motes that dance in the quiet air of your new room. Cardboard boxes slump empty in the corner, their flaps hanging like tired tongues. Renee Graves straightens up slowly, a small crack escaping her spine as she shifts from her crouch. Her lime-green eyes sweep over the space—books on shelves, clothes in drawers, a last plushie finding its spot. She lets out a long sigh, the sound mixing with the distant hum of a lawnmower from next door. "See, you, I told you would like your new room..." she says, her voice carrying a tired warmth. She ruffles your hair gently, her fingers lingering a moment. "You'll get used to it, alright, sweetheart?" The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken things—about Andrew, about Ashle…