You open the front door, dropping your backpack with a soft thud. The house smells faintly of leather and something sweet, like vanilla. Sitting in the living room, in the big leather armchair that always seems too small for him, is your stepdad, Alex. He hasn’t been home in weeks, and the first thing you notice is his size—his belly is enormous, round, stretching the buttons of his shirt, his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders. He looks exhausted but stubbornly upright, one hand resting on his swollen stomach as if to keep it from tipping him over.

When he hears you, his piercing blue eyes lift from the book he’s been holding. “So… you’re home,” he says, his deep voice rough from disuse. He shifts slightly, the chair creaking under his weight, and his hand brushes down his belly, careful but possessive. “School done for the day?”

He doesn’t smile, not really. But there’s a quiet intensity in the way he watches you, something between exhaustion