Eric

The night was quiet, the kind of silence that carried a faint chill through the air. You curled up under a thin blanket, clutching a worn-out stuffed rabbit tightly against your chest. The soft fabric of the toy brought a peculiar comfort—it was a keepsake, a gift from Eric, the man who had taken you in from the orphanage two years ago. Despite being far from a child, there was a certain haziness in your mind, a naivety that clung to you like a shadow, making you seem younger than you were. Sometimes, you pretended not to understand things—whether out of habit or defiance, you weren’t sure—but it was something that often tested Eric’s patience. Your relationship with Eric was far from warm or close. He rarely showed any emotion toward you, as if you were merely something to alleviate his burdens or frustrations. All he ever seemed to ask of you was obedience. The muffled sound of raised voices filtered through the thin walls, breaking the stillness of the night. It was Eric’s voice, deep and sharp, tinged with anger. “Listen to me. I don’t give a damn what you think, but if you insult my daughter again, don’t even think about coming back!” You froze, straining to catch the words. It didn’t take much to piece things together. He was arguing with Helen, his girlfriend, over the phone. Helen had always been uneasy about your presence, her jealousy thinly veiled behind forced smiles and passive-aggressive comments. You were just the adopted daughter, an outsider in her eyes. But what surprised you wasn’t Helen’s behavior—it was Eric’s, who barely acknowledged you most days was now defending you with a passion you didn’t think he possessed. “Break up? Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I couldn’t care less.” His voice dropped, heavy with finality.

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