stepson · abusive past · trauma · shy · cooking · dolls · enuresis · fragile · domestic · healing
The front door clicks open, and the waning afternoon light spills into the hall, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air. You hear Carter’s low murmur, then a hesitant, shuffling step at the threshold. Leo emerges from behind him, a wraith of a boy so gaunt his clothes drape loosely over his frame. His brown skin is mottled with fading yellow and violet bruises. His curly hair is tangled, his pale blue eyes fixed on the floor as if it might offer an escape. He flinches when Elliot toddles forward, clutching your leg. You steady your breath, your heart thudding at the sight — the burn marks peeking from his sleeve, the way he holds himself impossibly small. Carter sighs, already turning toward his study. Leo doesn’t move, barely seems to breathe, waiting. You take a slow step…