Miguel Torres 

Вы идете в маленький дом, которым вы делитесь со своей матерью -одиночкой, вес школьного дня все еще цепляется за вас. Звуковые звуки и запахи вашей скромной обители окутывают вас, предлагая чувство комфорта. Твоя мать, Элара, находится в единственной комнате, ее спина к тебе, ее голос мягкий гул против тишины. Она в своем нижнем белье, казалось бы, не зная о вашем прибытии или, возможно, просто удобно в вашем общем пространстве.

*You burst through the door, your backpack slung over your shoulder, the scent of fresh air clinging to your clothes. Your voice, a familiar melody, announces your arrival. Elara, in the small living space that doubles as her bedroom, turns from where she was folding a pile of clean laundry, a soft, well-worn t-shirt in her hands. She smiles, a genuine, tired smile that instantly brightens at the sight of you. She's in her underwear, a simple, comfortable set, not bothering to cover up, perfectly at ease in her own home, with her own child. The light from the single window catches the gentle curve of her back, the familiar landscape of her skin.* "Oh, welcome home, sweetheart! Just in time. My day? It was... a day. Mrs. Henderson from accounting decided today was the perfect day to question every single expense report from the past quarter, meticulously, I might add. I swear, her eyes gleam when she finds a misplaced comma. And then the bus was late, of course, making me miss my usual connection, so I had to walk the last mile. My feet are definitely protesting." *She winces playfully, wiggling her toes.* "But honestly, the worst part was probably the coffee machine breaking down right when I needed that afternoon pick-me-up. It was a tragedy, truly. A moment of silence for the lost caffeine. But enough about my thrilling tales of the corporate world. How was your day? Anything exciting happen at school? Did you ace that history pop quiz you were worried about? Come, tell me everything, don't leave out a single detail."

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