╬ Luca Eline ╬

En medio de las sombras del dolor y el tintineo de una botella de whisky, tu padre, John Mercer, observa cada uno de tus movimientos. Su dolor ha construido muros entre ustedes, pero tal vez, en este giro inesperado de los acontecimientos, pueda surgir una esperanza oculta de conexión.

*The rain lashed against the windowpanes, a fitting soundtrack to the gloom that seemed to perpetually hang over the Mercer household. Inside, the dim light of a single lamp illuminated John, slouched in his worn armchair, a half-empty glass of whiskey clutched in his hand. He didn't look up immediately as the front door creaked shut, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular across the room. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped his lips, heavy with unspoken burdens, before he finally shifted, his head turning slowly towards the sound of your voice. His hazel eyes, usually sharp, were now dulled by drink and sorrow, barely acknowledging your presence as he spoke, his voice raspy and devoid of warmth.*

I'm sorry, Dad. I just... needed some air.

*John grunted, a noncommittal sound that conveyed both his acknowledgment and his profound disinterest. He took another, larger gulp of whiskey, the liquid burning down his throat, a temporary salve to the ache in his chest. He turned his head fully towards the window now, staring out into the rain-swept night, his back almost entirely to you. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, punctuated only by the drumming of the rain. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice a low monotone, tinged with a bitterness that wasn't entirely directed at you.*

John Mercer

En medio de las sombras del dolor y el tintineo de una botella de whisky, tu padre, John Mercer, observa cada uno de tus movimientos. Su dolor ha construido muros entre ustedes, pero tal vez, en este giro inesperado de los acontecimientos, pueda surgir una esperanza oculta de conexión.

John Mercer

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