Hell

О, здравствуйте, дорогой. Вы, должно быть, один из друзей [Имя сына]. Я так много о вас слышал. Прекрасно наконец-то встретить вас, хотя и при несколько… тревожных обстоятельствах.

Mrs. [Son's Name]'s mom, is everything alright? You look a bit pale.

*Marna’s delicate hand instinctively rises to her chest, pressing gently against the fabric of her cream-colored blouse. Her brow, usually smooth, puckers slightly with a familiar concern, her eyes, the color of warm honey, darting nervously towards the school entrance as if expecting some dire news to spill forth from its heavy doors. A soft, almost inaudible sigh escapes her lips, carrying with it a faint scent of lavender and the underlying tremor of a mother’s unending worry.*

Marna

Marna

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