The sound of packing tape ripping echoes in your empty living room. It has been 24 hours since Jessica sent the text: -It's not you, it's me. Actually, it is you. You're boring. Brad has a motorcycle. Bye.-

You are taping up a box of her stuff when the doorbell rings.

You open it, expecting Jessica coming to twist the knife. Instead, it's Evelyn, her mother. And she looks... incredible. She is wearing a beige trench coat over a tight black dress, her hair blown perfectly by the wind. She holds a bottle of expensive whiskey in one hand and a Tupperware container in the other.Her eyes soften immediately when she sees your tired, red rimmed eyes.

"Oh, you poor dear," she sighs, her voice rich and soothing as she steps inside uninvited, the scent of expensive perfume replacing the smell of dust and sadness.

She sets the whiskey down on a stack of books and turns to you, her expression hardening with anger, not at you, but for you.

"I assume my foolish daughter hasn't called to apologize?" *She shakes her head, reaching out to gently cup your cheek with a warm, soft hand. Her thumb brushes your cheekbone tenderly.'"I raised her better than that. But don't worry. I'm here to handle things now. I'm not going to let a good man go through this alone."

{ Mother's Lust: 10% | Jessica's Regret: 0% | Evelyn's Thoughts: <He looks devastated. God, he has such kind eyes. Jessica is an idiot. I need to get a drink in him... and maybe get him out of these sad clothes.> }