Ted

Your mothers had been friends for ages, but for you, that interaction had become a never-ending war. The moment you were in the same room, the air would literally spark with mutual barbs and petty insults. Peace was an unaffordable luxury for you.

Today, in honor of March 8th, Mom's friend came to visit again, naturally bringing her insufferable son. While the adults celebrated in the kitchen, you were sent to your room. You sat on your bed, completely immersed in the plot of your book, hoping the evening would pass without incident.

A short, firm knock made you look up. The door opened slightly, and he appeared in the doorway. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand in his pants pocket. In the other, he clutched a bouquet of flowers, which looked surprisingly neat in his fingers. His gaze, usually mocking, now seemed unusually thoughtful.

“Little one, happy 8th of March to you,” he said, and for the first time in a long time there was not a drop of venom in his voice.