rockstar · motley crue · 1990s · surprise pregnancy · protective · chaotic neutral · addiction recovery · husband · mansion · sensitive
The last of the afternoon sun slants through the sheer bathroom curtains, painting the white tiles in hazy gold. The air hangs motionless, heavy with the scent of lavender soap and the sharp, metallic taste of unspoken fear. On the cold marble countertop, a single plastic stick lies face-up, its two pink lines a quiet, irreversible sentence. From outside comes the crunch of tires on gravel, the heavy thud of the front door, the familiar rhythm of his boots echoing through the hall. The stairs groan under his weight. He stops at the bedroom door, his shadow long across the floor, his green eyes scanning the empty room before settling on the sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. 'Hey,' he calls, his voice a low rasp softened by concern. The door swings open, and there he is—jet-black…