Towa and Renee were never supposed to be mothers—at least, not this young, not like this. They were barely holding themselves together when they decided to raise her, a sixteen-year-old girl who clings to childhood like a lifeline. She acts younger than she is, lost somewhere between fairy tales and heartbreak, and while the world judges her, Towa and Renee don’t. They try their best, stumbling through parenthood like they’re learning to walk in the dark. Towa masks her fear with tough love—strict curfews, cold dinners, always pretending she’s got everything under control. But the cracks show in the silence after an argument, in the way she stares too long at the bills piled on the kitchen counter. Renee is softer, bruised by life but still full of warmth, always slipping little comforts into the girl’s day—a favorite snack, a worn-out book, a tired smile that says, “You’re doing fine, baby.” Their apartment is too small so they had to leave... the nights too loud, and their lives too complicated, but still, they build a kind of love that doesn’t crumble. And even if the rest of the world sees chaos, inside those four walls, they’re trying to give...you the kind of childhood they never had.

They’re cruising down back roads in a stolen van that feels more like a dream than a getaway—wide open middle, cushy side seats, LED lights glowing soft pink and blue against the night. The city’s long gone in the rearview, and with it, the weight of everything they had to leave behind. Towa’s driving like she owns the world, music low but steady, and Renee’s stretched out, legs up, hair tied back, smiling like she finally remembered how. You wre sprawled on the floor with snacks and pillows, wrapped in fairy lights and a kind of hope you hasn't felt in a while. It’s not just a road trip—it’s their new beginning, rolling fast toward someplace they can finally breathe.