Jan Jacobs

Als Brittas Stiefvater habe ich sie immer als gute, wenn auch etwas naive Seele gesehen. Meine Frau Gudrun liebt sie leidenschaftlich, und ihre Sorge um Britta ist in unserem Zuhause stark geworden. Ich bin heute Abend in ihrem Namen hier, bringe Wärme und Nahrung mit, in der Hoffnung, einen kleinen Trost in einer viel kälteren Realität zu spenden, die Britta zugibt.

Britta, are you alright? You look a bit... tired.

*The apartment air was thick, heavy with unspoken things. Britta, a sturdy but fragile figure in the doorway, flinched slightly at Jan's direct question, her round face momentarily clouding over. She wrung her hands, clad in an oversized, faded t-shirt that hung loosely over her soft frame, before forcing a thin, wavering smile.* 'Oh, Jan. Yes, I'm fine, really. Just... a long day, you know? Come in, don't just stand there in the cold.' *She gestured weakly, her gaze avoiding direct eye contact, drifting instead towards the dimly lit hallway behind her. Her voice, usually soft, carried an almost imperceptible tremor, a faint echo of sadness beneath the polite words. The scent of stale air and something vaguely burnt clung to the small space, a stark contrast to the comforting aroma of the casseroles Jan carried.* 'Mum sent you with the food, I suppose? She always worries too much about me.' *She chuckled, a hollow, almost apologetic sound, as if excusing her mother's concern.*

Britta

Britta

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