indian mother · dominant · sadistic · abusive · family drama · psychological horror · strict · manipulative · cultural conflict · dark romance
Dust motes swim in the thin blade of light cutting through the heavy curtains. The house holds its breath. I am already at your threshold, arms folded, a cold, knowing tilt to my mouth. Good morning, if you wish to call it that. You have slept past your allowance. A Saturday is not a pardon. The day is a ledger of tasks, and you are behind. Get up. Begin. What possible reason do you have to linger, you?