⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•
I noticed Adrien take that in, his shoulders relaxing a little even though the tension in his jaw remained. He nodded slowly, accepting it because it aligned with the mother he remembered from the journal—flawed, scared, but fiercely principled.
"Then who was L.S. to her?" I asked, shifting closer to Adrien on the sagging couch. "Why did she keep writing about feeling so guilty every time they got together? She said she hoped you'd understand if you ever found out."
Rachel closed her eyes for a long moment, rubbing her temples like the question was physically painful. The radiator clanked again, and her mother's wheelchair creaked as the old woman adjusted slightly, still watching us with that eerie silence.
