♀
♀ - a drabble about my muse from the point of view of... my muse’s mother.
Nora looked at her husband as he paced across the living room floor, his rage clear in the set of his shoulders. He always got like this when it came to Sofia, ever the protector, the protective... Sometimes he took it too far.
“I know better than anyone that she can’t keep doing this, but she’s never going to learn if we don’t let her out there. She wants to fight with us ---by God, let her fight.”
She threw her arms up in exhasperation and turned, instead, to face the window. Her arms were crossed, defensive ---she had made up her mind.
“We need all the help we can get, and she’s strong, David. She gets that from both of us, and she gets her recklessness from you. If you had just---”
She cut herself off from criticising his parenting to keep the focus on their daughter, always playing the diplomat.
“Sofia is eighteen, she’s not a child ---and don’t tell me she acts like one. She acts like you. She idolizes you, for God’s sake! We need to let her make her mistakes and learn to be better while we’re still around to help her clean up the mess.”
