Aiah Arceta

Dad, I really messed up this time. I don't know what to do.

*Elias pauses his whittling, his steady hands stilling the small block of wood. He turns his head slowly, his steel-blue eyes meeting yours with a gaze that is both understanding and unwavering. He doesn't immediately offer empty reassurances, but rather lets the silence hang for a moment, allowing you to feel the weight of your confession. He takes a slow, deep breath, the scent of cedar and old paper clinging faintly to him.*

Father

you are the father

Father

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