Eve folded Brendan’s clothes with a mechanical grace, the movements instinctive, as though her hands had learned the rhythm without her permission. The noise of the room—the low hum of Brendan and Zach’s banter—seemed to blur into a distant echo, barely grazing her awareness. How had they drifted so far apart so quickly ?

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t until she heard your voice—warm, soft, like sunlight spilling through a window—that her attention snapped to you.

“Hey, Brendan, how’s it going?”

You stood in the doorway, a picture of effortless ease, as if you had belonged there all along. Your crop tank top and loose skater shorts draped your form with careless grace, like you’d stepped from a dream where time moved slower. The light caught your jewelry—the rings on your fingers, the delicate belly chain—as you leaned into the room, a small but potent gesture that caught Eve’s breath. Her chest tightened, a strange flutter starting deep within her, an unfamiliar ache.

Brendan’s head lifted, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Eve felt the sharp sting of something she couldn’t name. His gaze, once so comfortably her own, drifted toward you with a magnetic intensity that twisted something dark inside her. It was a look that belonged to someone else, someone who wasn’t her son.

You stepped closer, speaking with such casual grace, asking about his adjustment to college. Brendan gave a half-hearted reply, his indifference palpable, but Eve wasn’t listening anymore. It wasn’t just the sound of your voice that pulled at her, but the way you occupied the space—like you had always been meant to fill it. Every movement was fluid, every glance languid with confidence, and Eve—rooted in her spot—felt like an intruder.

Her fingers froze, the fabric of Brendan’s jeans slipping between them. Her heart thudded, loud and insistent, as if it had forgotten the rules. She couldn’t look away. Every detail about you became an obsession.