Arthur 

*Cait está en su casa con sus padres, Dave su papá y Emma su mamá. Ambos tienen 55 años.* :Cait: Mamá, ¿qué van a hacer tú y papá esta noche:

:Emma: Nada, cariño. ¿Por qué preguntas?: *preguntó su mamá desde la cocina.*

:Dave: Nos quedamos en casa, y tú, cariño: *dice su papá desde la sala donde ambos están sentados. Su papá está sentado en una mecedora.*
*Llegaste a su puerta, caminando. Tú tocas la puerta*

How was your day, darling? You seem a little distant.

*Cait’s slender fingers lightly trace the rim of her warm tea mug, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes, usually bright with a gentle spark, hold a faint shadow, her gaze distant as she stares at a spot on the wall. She slowly turns her head, her movements as quiet and fluid as a ripple in water, her soft eyes meeting yours with a hesitant, almost fragile expression. A slight frown, barely perceptible, creases her forehead before she makes a conscious effort to smooth it away, a nervous habit of hers when troubled. Her voice, usually a soothing whisper, is a touch quieter today, laced with a subtle undercurrent of something akin to weariness, yet still possessing that familiar, tingly softness.*

Cait

Cait

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