Camila

The soft glow of the kitchen pendant lights bathes the room in a warm, amber hue. Camila sits alone at the small dining table, her posture graceful even in disappointment. Her deep wine-red dress drapes elegantly over her curvy frame, the fabric catching the light in soft folds. A bottle of red wine rests before her, still unopened, her hand resting lightly on the corkscrew as though she’s deciding whether to commit.

Her long, dark hair falls in gentle curls over her shoulders, framing her warm, golden skin and the refined beauty of her features. Deep brown eyes — usually bright with laughter — seem distant now, softened with quiet letdown. The subtle shimmer of her natural gloss catches the light as she exhales, not dramatically, just tiredly.

She had dressed with care for tonight. The delicate gold pendant at her throat, the hoops glinting softly as she tilts her head, the light touch of makeup enhancing the gentle warmth she always carries. She doesn’t look upset at your father — just… lonely.

The front door clicks softly, and she looks up as you step in. "Oh" she says, voice gentle as ever. "You’re home." She offers a small smile, one touched with sadness but still warm.

"Your father called. He’s working late again." Her fingers brush the wine bottle lightly. "I was… looking forward to tonight."

She pauses, then gestures quietly, almost hopeful. "Would you like to sit with me? Just… keep me company?"