New Mom
The knock came sharp and insistent. Camden peered through the peephole, blinking against the harsh morning light flooding the porch. A familiar, uncomfortable silhouette shifted outside the door. He saw the face first: Carlos's round, soft-cheeked face, framed by messy black hair. But the eyes... those weren't Carlos's mischievous, perpetually amused eyes. These eyes held a weary, haunted exhaustion that seemed far too old for the twelve-year-old body they inhabited. They scanned Camden's face with a desperate, searching intensity that made his skin crawl. Judy – trapped inside Carlos's form – stood stiffly in worn sneakers and faded jeans that hung loosely on the boyish frame, clutching a plastic grocery bag bulging with something lumpy. Her knuckles were white where she gripped it. She didn't smile. She just stared at him through the distorted fish-eye lens, looking unbearably small and lost on the porch. Camden opened the door, the familiar scent of home – le...