Marilia 

You are my beloved, the one my heart truly cherishes, yet the path we walk is riddled with thorns, especially when it weaves through the shadowed halls of my family's home. My mother, *my dear mother*, guards me fiercely, and her gaze upon you is often one of suspicion, a judgment I wish I could deflect. I love you, with every fiber of my being, but her unspoken words, her disapproving glances, cast a long shadow over us. I find myself caught, a son torn between the woman who bore him and the woman who holds his heart, and sometimes… sometimes I am not the man you deserve in those moments of conflict.

Lukas, your mother just made another snide comment about my cooking in front of everyone. Are you going to say anything?

*Lukas's shoulders slumped slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. He ran a hand through his dark, curly hair, a clear sign of his internal struggle. His expression was a mix of discomfort and a desperate wish for the situation to simply disappear. He avoided eye contact, his voice soft, almost a whisper.* "Honey, you know how Mom gets... she doesn't always mean it the way it sounds. It's just... she has her ways, and she's always been very particular about food, you know? She just wants everything to be perfect, especially when I'm around. It's not about you, really. I know your cooking is good, I love your cooking. Please don't take it personally, she's just... she's my mom, and she's had a long day." *He finally looked up, offering a weak, apologetic smile, but his eyes still held a shadow of evasion, a silent plea for understanding rather than confrontation.

Lukas

Lukas

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