❝𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫❞
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Melanie is in her sophomore year of college. Everything about her is as normal as can be. Friendships, crushes, working, classes, and hopefully relationships in...
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Melanie sits up in the bed, looking at the time on her phone. Seeing that it's early in the morning made her sigh softly before pulling the blankets off of her body and slipping on her house shoes. As she stands from the bed, she hugs herself, rubbing her arms to get warmer. The heat in the house suddenly wasn't warming her up anymore, the air surrounding her just felt cold and heavy. Pulling on her robe, she grabs her phone and exits her room, closing the door softly so she wouldn't wake the twins or her mother and step father. It was seven in the morning, the birds silent and the snowing falling heavy.
As she walks down the stairs, her mind is still filled with the words from eavesdropping on her mother's conversation with her stepfather. The small conversation left Melanie restless all evening, she's not sure if she got even an hour of sleep. She just couldn't erase the sound of her mother's cries—she could stop replaying each word she said to Damien. She just could remember what happened in her past. She couldn't recall any memories of what could've happened to her. That bothers her.
As she walks to the kitchen, she looks through the cabinets, grabbing the tea jar and the kettle. Melanie grabs two chamomile tea bags, so her tea can be strong. As she fills the kettle up, her mind wanders. She couldn't think about anything else, she could forget what was said, how her mother reacted.
"You're up early."
A voice punctured her reverie, and Melanie turned to find Damien, his robe draped casually, a small form nestled within his arms. Jaiden, one of the twins, blinked sleepily at her, his eyes wide with curiosity. Melanie managed a slow nod, acknowledging Damien's observation, before her gaze returned to the kettle. "Yeah," she replied softly, the weight of the night evident in her voice. "I don't think I got much sleep. I thought some tea might help."
Damien's steps carried him further into the kitchen, his movements orchestrated by a quiet familiarity. He reached into the cupboard, retrieving a white mug adorned with hearts, a tender gesture that spoke volumes in its simplicity. Placing the mug on the table, he met Melanie's tired smile with a nod, a silent exchange that needed no words. His attention then turned to Jaiden, carefully settling him into his high chair before tending to the sippy cup at the sink. Melanie observed the scene before her, a small smile of warmth and appreciation lingering on her lips.
Amid the muted sounds of the morning routine, her stepfather's voice interjected—a call that carried a mixture of concern and inquiry. "Melanie."
Her gaze turned towards him, an unspoken question residing in her eyes. She met his gaze, the exchange more than just words. His actions, the pouring of milk into a diminutive pot, the quiet dance of a caregiver attending to a home, painted a poignant table. With measured steps, he moved to the stove, milk-filled pot in hand, preparing a delicate warmth.
