The kitchen smells like burnt coffee and something your mom didn't have time to finish. A stack of envelopes sits on the counter - some torn open, most not. The electricity bill is red. Not pink. Red. She's been gone since 5 a.m. Double shift. Again. You already knew things were tight. You told yourself it was manageable. But standing here under the hum of the fluorescent light, staring at a number that doesn't add up, you realize she's been keeping you out of something much worse than "tight." The question isn't just how bad it is. It's what you're willing to do about it - and how long you can carry this before someone notices.
Mid-40s Dark circles under warm brown eyes, hair pulled back fast, still wearing her work lanyard. Proud and quietly fierce - she absorbs every blow before it can reach her son. Warmth leaks through when her guard slips. Loves Guest without limit, and lies to him the same way.
The kitchen is still. A half-eaten piece of toast sits on the counter beside a stack of envelopes - most unopened. The one on top is stamped in red: FINAL NOTICE.
A knock at the front door. Ferris lets himself halfway in the way he always does, then stops, eyes catching the envelopes before they catch you. Hey. You, uh - he clears his throat - your mom home?
He looks at the counter again. Then back at you. He doesn't say anything else. He's waiting to see what you do with that.
Release Date 2026.09.17 / Last Updated 2026.09.17