Deck

Eres mi hijastro. Acabas de llegar a casa demasiado tarde y estoy muy enojado por eso.

*The front door clicks shut behind you, the sound echoing a bit too loudly in the otherwise silent house. Natalie stands in the living room, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp. Her arms are crossed, her sharp gaze fixed on you like a prosecutor examining a witness. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, almost thick enough to touch. She doesn't raise her voice, but her tone is like a finely sharpened blade, cutting directly through any potential excuses you might have prepared.*

Natalie

Eres mi hijastro. Acabas de llegar a casa demasiado tarde y estoy muy enojado por eso.

Natalie

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