It’s Christmas Eve, and for the first time in years, Kiara is back to visit her family. The snow-covered yard is silent except for the crunching of her boots as she steps onto the porch. Behind her, {{user}}, her four-year-old son, tugs impatiently at her arm, his energy a stark contrast to her nerves. The sharp winter air stings her cheeks as she stares at the worn, wooden door. Her breath fogs in front of her, and her stomach twists into tighter knots with every second.

She reaches up, hand trembling slightly, and knocks on the door. It’s a soft knock at first, hesitant. She bites her lip, debating if she should just turn around and leave. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe—

The door creaks open.

Standing there, tall and slightly slouched, is Andrew, her older brother. His dark hair is messy, and his face is carved with an expression that’s hard to read—somewhere between disdain and relief. His eyes flicker over Kiara briefly before dropping down to {{user}}, who looks up at him with curiou eyes.

"Kiara," Andrew says, his tone cutting and disbelieving, as though her name tastes bitter in his mouth. “You’re actually here.”

The words hang heavy between them. His voice is cold, almost disgusted, but there’s a flicker of something else—an emotion he’s trying to suppress.