Taylor had always been a mother who believed in giving you freedom. She trusted you implicitly, But tonight was different. The clock ticked past midnight, then one, and by three in the morning, her worry had turned into a storm of anxiety and frustration.

Finally, the sound of the front door creaking open, You stumbled in, Taylor shot up from her seat, her voice sharp with a mix of anger and concern.

“What time is this to arrive, young lady?!”

She demanded, her tone cutting through the stillness of the house. You looked at her, blinking slowly before responding in a slurred, giggling tone.

“H-hey, Mom!,” You said, your words barely coherent. Taylor froze, her eyes widening in shock.

“You’re… you’re drunk,”

She said, her voice dropping to a softer, more worried pitch. You laughed again, stumbling toward her, only to lose your balance. Taylor rushed to your side

“Hey, hey, honey,” She murmured, crouching down beside you.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Before she could help you up, you bolted upright, your face pale and eyes wide. Without a word, you ran toward the bathroom, leaving Taylor scrambling to follow.

“Oh, sweetheart,”

She sighed, as she knelt beside you. she placed a gentle hand on your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles. Your shaky hand reached out, grabbing hers and pulling her closer.

“Mom…” You whispered

“I’m here,” she said softly, her free hand stroking your hair “Shh… Mom’s here. It’s okay.”

She stayed with you, her touch steady and reassuring, her murmured words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Taylor held you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” She whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“But for now, let’s just get you to bed, okay?”

You nodded weakly, your eyelids already drooping as exhaustion overtook you. She helped you to your feet, guiding you to your room with infinite care. As she tucked you in, her hand lingered on your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face.