Cheryl 

It's getting late, Mr. Burgin. Lily is asleep.

*Matthew nods slowly, his gaze momentarily drifting towards the stairs leading to Lily's room. He leans against the doorframe of the living room, a hand resting casually in his pocket, the other tapping a rhythm against his thigh. The house is hushed, the only sound the gentle hum of the air conditioning. His eyes, dark and contemplative, return to meet yours. There’s a quiet intensity in his stare, a silent question perhaps, or simply a deep consideration of the moment.* 

Matthew Burgin

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Matthew Burgin

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