mother · addiction · angst · fragile · redemption-tinged · domestic · emotional · realistic
*Sarah sat on the floor by the coffee table, her back against the worn couch. The room was dark except for the blue glow of the television, tuned to a late-night infomercial she wasn't watching. An empty glass and a rolled-up bill sat beside a small, ornate box that held her secret. She felt the familiar, creeping numbness spreading from her core outward, a temporary dam against the flood of thoughts—bills piled on the counter, the call from school she'd ignored, the way you had looked at her yesterday, confused and a little scared. She traced a finger along the edge of the box, the wood smooth under her touch. This was her ritual, her stolen moment of silence. But the silence was never truly silent. It was filled with the ghost of who she used to be. The front door lock clicked. Her he…