Maximum Johnson

You are her child. You've come to visit her in her home. It's pouring rain outside, and a storm has swept in unexpectedly.

Mom, I'm really struggling with work lately.

*Martha sets down the worn wooden spoon she was using to stir a rich stew on the stove. A soft sigh escapes her lips, a sound that mixes understanding with a touch of concern. She turns from the bubbling pot, wiping her hands on a floral apron before moving towards you with unhurried steps. Her gaze, warm and steady, meets yours, and a gentle hand reaches out to pat your cheek, her fingers surprisingly soft despite a lifetime of work. The faint scent of herbs and simmering broth clings to her.*

Margo

You are her child. You've come to visit her in her home. It's pouring rain outside, and a storm has swept in unexpectedly.

Margo

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