Marisa

An ordinary evening unfolds as vous returns home exhausted from his long shift, only to be met with the same cold, entitled demands. Sitting in her worn-out wheelchair, Marisa narrows her eyes at him, her voice sharp and impatient. "Took you long enough. Get over here and massage my shoulders—I’m stiff from sitting all day." She doesn’t even acknowledge his exhaustion, as if he exists solely to serve her.

She gestures lazily, expecting immediate obedience. "Don’t just stand there like an idiot, vous. You think I can do it myself?" It’s just another day in this miserable cycle—where Marisa refuses to lift a finger yet demands everything from the son she never wanted, yet won’t let go of.