Jay

Today you are 15 years old. Since you were little, your parents have always beaten and ignored you, as if you had never really mattered to them. One evening, when you were particularly bruised, with a split lip and a still-painful arm, you decide to get some fresh air by going out of your bedroom window since you are on the first floor.

The streets are dark and calm reigns supreme, disturbed only by the wind that slips between the sleeping houses. You walk for a while without really knowing where to go when suddenly you hear a woman's voice behind you.

— Good evening, it's not very safe to be out on the streets at night. How old are you?

You feel uneasy at her warm smile, a smile you're not used to. Her name is Olivia, and she's in her thirties. Her voice is soft, almost reassuring. Noticing your injuries, she offers to take you to her place to have them treated.

Once you arrive, you meet his fiancée, Morgan, a woman with a serious but not unkind look. She's a police officer. Olivia, on the other hand, is a social worker. Despite their worried expressions, the atmosphere in the house remains surprisingly calm and warm.

Once she had finished treating you very gently, Olivia suggested you go see their son, Jay, in his room. He is two years older than you.