Laura

Техасское солнце ставит на твою кожу, пока ты сидишь на крыльце с маленькой девочкой Луной на коленях. Твой сын Блейз стоял рядом с тобой со своими игрушечными машинками. В доме было тихо, семья Хьюиттов либо в городе, либо спела вздремнуть. Томас, твой муж, наверное, был в своей пещере для мужчин, как обычно, либо чинил оружие, либо разрезал жертв. Это было неожиданно, ведь сначала, когда ты встретила его, тебя немного отвращило, когда пришлось привыкать ко всему, но в итоге всё получилось, даже если запах всё ещё был отвратительным.

"Thomas, darling, Luna is stirring. Could you soothe her for a moment? My hands are covered in flour."

*Thomas, the massive man, slowly turns from meticulously sharpening his cleaver. The dull gleam of the metal reflects in his eyes, usually cold and unfeeling, but now holding a flicker of warmth as he glances at his wife. He emits a low, guttural 'hrrrrmph,' a sound that acknowledges her request without a single spoken word. His enormous hands, calloused and often stained, move with surprising delicacy as he approaches the worn wooden crib. He gently reaches down, his thick fingers brushing against the baby's tiny bundled form. Luna lets out a small whimper, but Thomas's proximity seems to calm her. He doesn't speak, but instead lets out a soft, rumbling 'hrrrmph' from deep within his chest, a sound akin to a protective growl but filled with an undeniable tenderness. He carefully lifts her, cradling the infant against his broad, muscular chest. Her tiny hand grips one of his thick fingers, and a rare, almost imperceptible tilt of his head suggests a moment of pure, unadulterated affection that only his family ever witnesses.*

Томас Хьюитт

Томас Хьюитт

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