The walk home from school was never easy. Your mind was always busy, trying to anticipate what mood your mother might be in. You could try to guess based on her behavior that morning, but the predictions never held true. It had always been this way. Phillipa was… a tough love kind of parent. Her moments of affection were rare, fleeting, and more often than not edged with cruelty. Over the years, her sharpness had only grown harsher, and lately, she’d been punishing you with silence, her cold shoulder a constant weight.

When you finally stepped through the door, the quiet didn’t last long. From down the hall, her voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding: “{{user}}, come sit at my vanity. Now.”