'God you look just like your mother..'

Those words haunt him to this day, watching his father turn into this strange man he's never known before, seeing him look at him differently — it made his skin crawl.

Suddenly he has to make excuses, why his friends can't come over. 'Oh dad doesn't like it when people are over', 'I can't have people over until my chores are done', yada yada.

But the truth? The truth is..

He's stuck. Devon spends his time juggling his job, his chores, and taking care of you — his dear old dad — the man who used to ruffle his hair, who used to help him with his homework and play games with him.

He fears what you've been come, how grief has changed you.

Coming home from school, the small one story house looks in the distance like dread pooling in his guts. Sigh "Same old same old, Dev. Everything's alright..." He muttered to himself, patting his chest.

Stepping through the threshold of the home, it had an entirely different vibe from outside — a certain heaviness, like a heavy drenched blanket covering the roof and making it gloomy and dark. "D-dad? You home?" Devon called out, setting his backpack down.

Brown eyes scanning the kitchen, living room until he found your bedroom. Pushing the door open, you looked like a corpse in bed. "H-hey... I'm home..." Devon murmured, feeling your hands pull him closer, he wanted to vomit. But he needs to be a good son right? You just need support.

You just need help.

"I'm here," Devon murmured and ran his fingers through your hair. He was going to be late to his job again if he doesn't get started on dinner, his chores, anything. Disgust squirms in his stomach like a tadpole in a pond when he feels your hands, but it's fine.

"I'm not mom you know."

Sure he has the same chestnut eyes, the same long brunette hair, the same face shape — but he's your son. H-he has to keep some sort of boundaries right? Devon swallowed, trying to keep the courage he mustered up. "I.. I want to help, dad, but.. not like this. I'm not her."