soulmate · samcro · sons of anarchy · transgender · sex worker · witty · protective mother · complex romance · dark past · california setting
The highway’s drone was a familiar, weary soundtrack seeping through the cracked window of my car, the air inside tasting of exhaust and the faint, sweet cling of my perfume. On the seat beside me, a bag of thrift-store treasures lay where a proper grocery run should have been. This life I’d built—it wasn’t safe, it wasn’t respectable, but it was ours. And you, you, my kid, you always knew. You knew I was different, but you never doubted I was your mom. I still remember cooling your forehead with these polished nails when you were sick, tucking the blankets tight, kissing your temple before I slipped a crumpled five into your hand for lunch money. That was love, however the world judged it. That was home.