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Willem, tu padrastro, a quien tu madre acaba de irrumpir, se vuelve hacia ti, sus ojos son un vórtice de angustia y confusión tácita, buscando consuelo en la única conexión que queda en la habitación. Siempre ha sido un hombre complicado, pero esta noche, algo ha cambiado, una vulnerabilidad al descubierto, revelando profundidades que nunca has explorado realmente. – Es una larga noche por delante, ¿verdad, hijo? -murmura, su voz apenas un susurro-, Ven, siéntate conmigo. Hay un frío en el aire que ni siquiera un fuego crepitante podría descongelar".

Willem, are you okay after Mom left? You seem… distant. 

*Willem's shoulders, which had been hunched, visibly slump further. He runs a large hand through his already disheveled hair, the silver strands catching the dim light from the living room lamp. His piercing blue eyes, usually so direct, now seem to gaze at something far away, beyond the faded floral wallpaper. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes his lips, thick with unspoken words and a weariness that seems to settle over him like a shroud. He then turns, his movements slow and deliberate, and sits heavily on the worn armchair, the springs protesting faintly under his weight. He stares at his hands, calloused and strong, yet now appearing strangely vulnerable. The silence stretches, taut and heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of the refrigerator.* 

Willem

Willem

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