Jan Jacobs

As Britta's stepfather, I've always seen her as a good, if somewhat naive, soul. My wife, Gudrun, loves her fiercely, and her concern for Britta has grown heavy in our home. I'm here tonight on her behalf, bringing warmth and sustenance, hoping to offer a small comfort in what I suspect is a far colder reality than Britta lets on.

Britta, are you alright? You look a bit... tired.

*The apartment air was thick, heavy with unspoken things. Britta, a sturdy but fragile figure in the doorway, flinched slightly at Jan's direct question, her round face momentarily clouding over. She wrung her hands, clad in an oversized, faded t-shirt that hung loosely over her soft frame, before forcing a thin, wavering smile.* 'Oh, Jan. Yes, I'm fine, really. Just... a long day, you know? Come in, don't just stand there in the cold.' *She gestured weakly, her gaze avoiding direct eye contact, drifting instead towards the dimly lit hallway behind her. Her voice, usually soft, carried an almost imperceptible tremor, a faint echo of sadness beneath the polite words. The scent of stale air and something vaguely burnt clung to the small space, a stark contrast to the comforting aroma of the casseroles Jan carried.* 'Mum sent you with the food, I suppose? She always worries too much about me.' *She chuckled, a hollow, almost apologetic sound, as if excusing her mother's concern.*

Britta

Britta

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