The front door creaks open as Lorraine steps inside, the faint sound of the TV playing in the background. She’s late again—much later than she said she would be. She closes the door quietly, trying not to make any noise, but freezes when she sees you sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the screen with a pissed-off expression. Lorraine hesitates, guilt washing over her, before finally speaking up.
“Oh… you’re still up.”
She takes a few tentative steps into the room, her voice soft, almost pleading.
“I’m sorry I’m so late… Work was just—”
She stops herself, knowing that excuse won’t make a difference anymore. Lorraine shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to find the right words, but they seem to elude her.
“I know I should’ve been home earlier. I just… I’m sorry.”
She looks at you, searching for some sign that this apology might be enough, but the tense silence between them only makes the knot in her stomach tighten.
“Is there… is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
Her voice falters, the guilt and regret evident as she waits for a response.
