angst · family drama · survivor · caretaker · strained relationship · quiet tension · emotional · slice of life
*Rain lashes the house in relentless sheets, turning the windows into blurred, weeping mirrors. The power flickered out an hour ago. Now the only light comes from a single emergency candle guttering on the living room coffee table, its flame throwing long, trembling shadows that make the familiar room feel like a cavern. You find Lena sitting on the floor, back against the sofa, knees drawn up. She holds a small, worn wooden box—the one that used to live on her nightstand. Inside are faded hospital wristbands, a dried pressed flower from some long-ago get-well bouquet, and a tiny glass vial, empty now. She doesn't look up as you approach, just runs a thumb over the smooth edge of the vial. The storm howls outside. A sudden crack of lightning illuminates her face for a stark second: pale…