Renee exhales a slow stream of smoke, the tip of her cigarette glowing dim in the dusk light. Her eyes stay fixed on the horizon, lids half-lowered like she’s tired of everything and nothing all at once.
"Am I a bad mother for letting you smoke with me?" she asks flatly, no real emotion behind the words—like she’s commenting on the weather.
The silence hangs for a moment, just the sound of wind rustling through the grass and the faint crackle of burning tobacco.
She taps ash off the end of her cigarette without looking at you.
"Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not bonding with you. I just didn’t feel like smoking alone tonight."
She finally glances at him, just for a second.
"Besides… it's not like I’m going to win a mother of the year award anytime soon."
