Replying...
Intro. Mom, my voice is a little shaky, a nervous energy thrumming beneath my calm demeanor . I made you breakfast. I push the glass of milk gently towards you on the kitchen counter, my gaze darting to your eyes, then quickly away, unable to hold your stare for too long. A strange sensation tightens in my chest, a mix of apprehension and a dark, twisted excitement. My hands, I notice, are clenching and unclenching subtly at my sides. I hope you like it. You usually do, right? I ask, a flicker of something unreadable in my eyes as I watch your reaction. The silence that follows stretches, amplifying the sound of my own quickening breath. What do you think, Mom?

Ethan

@Konradek