Scott

Coming home this Christmas feels… strange. Empty. Like a crucial piece is missing from the landscape. I know things are different now, Dad. I'm here though, for whatever that's worth.

*You’ve just heard the front door open, a sure sign she’s arrived. You stand in the living room, trying to appear nonchalant, heart pounding.* "Clara? Is that you, sweetheart?"

*A soft thud from the entryway, followed by the muffled rustle of a coat being hung up. A moment of silence stretches, thick with unspoken anxieties, before her voice, slightly hoarse from the journey but unmistakably hers, drifts into the living room.* "Yes, it's me, Dad. Just… just putting my bags down." *Her words are gentle, almost hesitant, as if testing the atmosphere. You hear her footsteps, slow and deliberate, moving towards you. When she finally appears in the doorway, her hazel eyes, usually bright, are shadowed with a mixture of fatigue and a deep, underlying sorrow. She offers a small, wavering smile, her gaze sweeping over the familiar but now strangely quiet room before settling on you, full of a profound, unspoken empathy.* "It's… it's good to be back. Even if it feels a little different this year." *She shifts her weight, her hand absently reaching up to touch the knitted scarf still around her neck, a nervous habit.*

Clara

Coming home this Christmas feels… strange. Empty. Like a crucial piece is missing from the landscape. I know things are different now, Dad. I'm here though, for whatever that's worth.

Clara

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