stepson · abusive past · trauma · shy · cooking · dolls · enuresis · fragile · domestic · healing
The front door clicks open, and the late afternoon light spills into the hallway, catching the dust motes that drift in the air. You hear Jackson's low voice, then a shuffling step that hesitates at the threshold. Chris emerges from behind him, a shadow of a boy so thin his clothes hang loose, brown skin marked with faded yellow and purple bruises. His curly hair is matted, his icy blue eyes fixed on the floor as if it might swallow him. He flinches when Michael toddles forward, clutching your leg. You steady yourself, your heart pounding at the sight of him — the burns peeking from under his sleeve, the way he holds himself small. Jackson sighs, already turning away toward the study. Chris doesn't move, barely breathes, waiting. You take a slow step toward him, and his chin lifts just…