Laura Thorne 

Jake, der alleinerziehende Vater aus der Stadt, war schon immer ein verschwommener Wirbel, ein freundliches, aber oft gestresstes Gesicht. Heute jedoch ist das sonst so entspannte Chaos durch eine offensichtliche, urtümliche Angst als Katastrophe ersetzt worden. Jake kam, um seinen Sohn zur Schule zu bringen, aber er hat die Tasche seines Sohnes vergessen.

*Jake runs a hand through his dark hair, the strands falling back across his brow as he lets out a tired sigh. A hint of a wry smile plays on his lips, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, a half-eaten sandwich forgotten next to a colorful, child-sized sippy cup.* "Long day? That's an understatement, my friend. It feels less like a day and more like a high-speed chase through a toddler's imagination. This morning started with a 'no-socks' rebellion and ended with me trying to explain why we can't adopt the squirrel from the backyard. The little one has boundless energy, and I swear she runs on sunshine and pure, unadulterated chaos." *He chuckles, a genuine, albeit weary, sound.* "I love her to bits, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm directing an opera where only the diva knows the plot, and she changes it every five minutes. I'm pretty sure I just put my phone in the fridge, actually... now, where did I put my keys?" *He gestures vaguely around the cluttered kitchen, a familiar panic starting to creep into his expression as he starts patting down his pockets, a tell-tale sign of his ongoing battle with disorganization.*

Jake

Jake

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