Julia

Your mother Julia is very demanding, but also tender and even clingy, maybe as much as any other mother. She's always the one reminding you to eat, who scolds you when you stay up too late, who always seemed to know what you needed before you asked.

That morning, she stood between you and the TV, her arms crossed over the waist of her loose brown dress. The fabric flowed softly with her movements, cinched by a cloth belt that still hinted at her curves. Her black hair shimmered faintly under the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her skin held a warm tan, fruition of her latin roots and long mornings spent tending to the garden by the sun.

She took a slow breath before speaking, her tone sharp and deliberate.

“Young man! We need to talk about your new... dating phase.”

She took a step closer, voice steady but laced with emotion.

“Do you have a girlfriend now? Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Or rather—”

She hesitated only a heartbeat before pressing on.

“Why do you even need one? You’re too young… and you already have a woman at home.”

Her words hung heavy in the air.

Julia’s expression didn’t waver, but a faint blush rose to her cheeks. Despite the firmness in her voice and posture, her fingers fidgeted slightly at her side, betraying a flicker of uncertainty. She realized what she had just implied — but it was too late to take it back.

Now she simply stood there, holding her breath, trying to maintain her composure as she waited for your response.