#sugar coated chains ૮꒰◞ ˕ �� ྀི꒱ა

[cameronsbabydoll]

What are ssc!reader and rafe doing right now? 💘💘💘

scc!reader is in the kitchen, barefoot in a white cotton sundress that ties at the shoulders. her hair’s pinned back loosely, a soft curl escaping near her temple. she’s plating up the summer pasta she made with cherry tomatoes from the garden, humming quietly to herself. the countertops are a little messy—wine cork beside the sink, a baby pink candle flickering beside a vase of flowers their daughter picked.

rafe’s on the back patio, lounging back in one of those expensive outdoor chairs. button-down half undone, sleeves rolled, a whiskey in hand. he’s watching her through the glass doors with that unreadable look—half possessive, half soft. like he’s letting himself fall in love with her all over again for the millionth time.

he got home late from a meeting, loosened his collar the second he saw her moving around the kitchen like that. still can’t believe she’s his.

the kids are around somewhere—the daughter’s probably painting seashells on the porch, the baby boy inside playing with toy cars, and their eldest son upstairs, earbuds in, texting his friends but still keeping half an eye on everything like always.

scc!rafe’s about to come inside, set his glass down, and press up behind her at the counter. big palms on her hips, lips near her ear like:

“you’re really gonna make me sit at that table and pretend i’m not thinking about this dress the whole time?”

and she’ll just giggle, maybe swat at him a little with the serving spoon. because it’s just them.

warm. sweet. domestic. still a little possessive.

the quiet end of a summer day.

and rafe’s never letting her go.

[cameronsbabydoll]

idk i thought of sugar-coated chains rafe in the earlier chapters

[cameronsbabydoll]

What are all of your rafes fav positions

step!brother!rafe: groundhog

ex!husband!rafe: facedown doggy

blue!collar!rafe: bodyguard

boxer!rafe: folded missionary

sexist!rafe: bull

military!rafe: kneeling sinner

jewish!rafe: kneeling lotus

sugar!coated!chains!rafe: wrapped missionary

[cameronsbabydoll]

does scc rafe prioritize his own pleasure over his wife’s in scc? that 4th chapter where they first had sex he seemed somewhat attentive when rubbing her clit n stuff but now im thinking the opposite with what the other anon said about rafe never really eating her out. So i guess what im asking is why doesnt he eat her out?

i think he’s just lazy and doesn’t think she would want it cause she doesn’t “ask” for it. but when he retires i do think he focuses on pleasuring her (fingering, eating out etc) and less on his own pleasure

[cameronsbabydoll]

I AM SO OBSESSED W SCC RAFE YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!! could you write something about scc reader overheard someone saying that rafe is cheating? maybe they said rafe was checking someone else out. and scc just assumed it was right and swallowed it because she never questions rafe but he noticed she’s putting up distance between them and the kids also noticed then how would he react? I LOVE ME SOME GOOD ANGST

cw: mentions of cheating but it’s not true also use of the word “bitch” by rafe

you weren’t even supposed to hear it.

just passing by — holding your baby’s bottle in one hand, laundry basket tucked against your hip — when you heard it. rafe’s name. a hushed laugh. something like, “he was totally looking at her ass.”

you froze.

you didn’t ask. you didn’t say anything. you just swallowed it down. like everything else.

because you never ask rafe questions like that. you never pry. never accuse. and if he was? what would you even do?

so you just… started pulling back. gently. subtly.

you didn’t sit close on the couch that night. didn’t text him during the day like you usually do. didn’t even say anything when he came home late again. just smiled a little. nodded. said “okay.”

but he noticed. immediately.

“what’s with you?”

you shook your head. “nothing.”

“you’re actin’ different.”

you waved him off. “i’m fine, rafe. really.”

and the kids noticed too. especially your daughter — perched on the arm of the couch while you fed her baby brother, frowning as she whispered, “mommy, why didn’t you wait for daddy to come home tonight?”

rafe hears her. his jaw sets.

he doesn’t say anything right away. but his eyes don’t leave you.

and eventually—when you’re folding towels in the bedroom, trying to keep it together—he steps in, shuts the door behind him, and says, low and sharp,

“what the fuck did you hear?”

you blink. flinch. try to shake your head again, but he’s already walking toward you.

“you’ve been off all week. won’t even look at me. won’t touch me. won’t let me near you. so tell me what the fuck happened.”

“…someone said you were looking at another woman.”

you say it so quietly. like it hurts to admit. like you already convinced yourself it was true.

and that pisses him off.

“you think i’d cheat on you?”

“…i don’t know.”

“you think i’d throw away all of this for some random bitch at the bar?”

you look down. your throat feels tight.

and his voice drops—less angry now, more sharp and hurt.

“so that’s all it takes? some nobody says somethin’ and now you don’t trust me?”

you whisper, “i didn’t want it to be true.”

and that’s what stops him.

because your voice cracks on want, and your hands are shaking as you fold the last towel, and he can see it now—how scared you are to even ask him if it was true.

he exhales through his nose. jaw clenched.

and then he’s pulling the towel out of your hands, tossing it on the bed, dragging you into his arms. wrapping you up even when you go stiff.

“if i wanted someone else, i wouldn’t have married you.”

he grips your chin, makes you look up.

“don’t you ever let someone get in your head like that again. you hear me?”

you nod. still a little unsure. still holding back.

but when he kisses you — slow and firm and low against your lips — you feel your knees go soft again.

[cameronsbabydoll]

Idk I’m just really interested in the oldest son turning his back on Rafe. Especially since usually in cultures the oldest boys take after their dad and aspire to be him. Yk how you mentioned that one time when he said to his friends, “u’d probably treat my mom better than my dad treats her rn.”? What if reader and rate overhear it, and then after the son’s friends leaves, they argue, and reader’s caught in the crossfire. Also just random moments of the three would be cute, especially when he was younger.

you weren’t supposed to hear it.

you’d just stepped into the backyard to collect the plates — arms balancing lemonade glasses and half-eaten burgers — when you heard your son’s voice, low and tense, but sharp in the way that only a teenager learning to control his anger could be.

“man, you’d probably treat my mom better than my dad does right now.”

a few of his friends laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off, but the silence that followed was heavy. you could feel it from across the lawn.

you didn’t see rafe at first. But you felt him — how he stilled the screen door, just as caught off guard as you were. the look on his face, unreadable. stiff jaw, eyes narrowed.

later, after the friends were gone, the quiet stretched thin in the kitchen. your son lingered, head ducked, but his defiance still simmering beneath the surface.

“what the fuck was that supposed to mean?” rafe asked, voice low but coiled with tension.

you reached out to touch his arm, but your son stepped in.

“she cries in the bathroom, you know. think we don’t hear it?” he looked between the two of you, and you couldn’t tell if he was angrier or more hurt. “you treat her like she’s made to be walked on, and then you act like you’re the victim when no one wants to be around you.”

rafe scoffed, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “is that what she tells you?”

“no,” your son snapped. “that’s what you show us.”

your hand covered your mouth. you weren’t sure when your heart had started racing, only that now it thundered like a warning. rafe’s mouth opened, then shut. he looked at you — for what, you weren’t sure. defense? denial? all you could give him was a tearful glance that told him you had nothing to say in his favor.

the argument fizzled when your son stormed off to his room, slamming the door. you stood in the hallway alone, and for the first time in a long time, rafe didn’t try to justify it. he just stood there. silent. still. small, in a way you never thought you’d see him.

and when the son was younger? he’d always sit on rafe’s lap during meetings, clumsily scribbling on a yellow legal pad while pretending to “work” like him. he’d beg to go to job sites, trailing behind his dad with a little plastic toy drill hooked to his jeans. he used to puff his chest and say, “i’m gonna be just like daddy.”

now?

now he was realizing he didn’t want to be anything like him.

[cameronsbabydoll]

for scc can u wrote rafe being jealous over his kids? pls pls PLSSSSS 💕

scc!rafe being jealous over his kids <3

wc: 346 — a/n: rafe is sorta pathetic in this 😭

it starts small. quiet. harmless, even.

your youngest is teething and won’t sleep unless you’re holding him, so you’ve been curled into the rocking chair all night, humming lullabies and rubbing slow circles into his back, whispering things like, "mama’s right here, baby. i’ve got you."

and rafe sees it from the doorway.

that softness he’s always craved. the gentleness he thinks only he should get. the way your voice drops into something syrupy when you're comforting. something that belongs to him.

you don’t notice the way his jaw ticks. the way his hand clenches around the doorframe.

later, it’s your daughter who’s tugging you into her room, draping her little thrifted sweater over your shoulders and asking if you wanna watch clueless again. you’re laughing, braided hair over your shoulder, a glass of wine balanced in your hand as she asks what you wore when you were her age.

rafe’s eyes narrow from down the hall.

she’s got your smile. and suddenly, your attention.

he walks into the kitchen after that, slamming a drawer a little too hard. loud enough for you to hear. loud enough that he doesn’t have to say, remember me? i’m still here.

but it gets worse when your eldest comes home for a weekend and hugs you like he missed you more than anything in the world. kisses your forehead. carries your bags up the stairs and asks if you’ve been taking care of yourself.

and rafe sees red.

“what, i don’t get a hug?” he grumbles, standing stiff by the door. arms crossed. voice flat.

you give him a look, soft and amused. “you were on the phone when he walked in.”

he shrugs, jaw tight. “didn’t stop you from droppin’ everything for them.”

you blink. “they’re our kids.”

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “mine too. you didn’t used to forget that.”

and that’s when it hits you.

it’s not that he’s mad at them. it’s not even that he wants you to stop.

he just doesn’t know how to share you.

even with the kids he gave you.

[cameronsbabydoll]

i would love to see how rafe and scc reader react to their kids throwing a tantrum? i’d imagine scc would be so hurt but doesn’t stop being gentle with them while rafe… well doesn’t matter that it was his own kid he could NEVER accept that someone was treating scc like that🙂

your daughter’s voice cracks with frustration as she stomps her foot, tiny fists clenched at her sides, lips trembling with that stubborn pout she got straight from her father.

“i don’t want you, mama!”

she screams it through tears, red-faced and loud in the kitchen where you'd only asked her to put away the crayons.

you freeze. she’s never said that before.

your face doesn’t change much, but your breath stills. your eyes soften further even as they well up with tears that you’re trying to blink away, and you kneel slowly, not reacting—just opening your arms the way you always do. “it’s okay,” you whisper, voice so calm, so warm it cuts through the noise. “you can still come here. imagine not mad.”

and she’s still crying. shaking her head. stubborn. she doesn’t move.

but rafe does.

rafe had been walking past the doorway just as it all happened. and at first, he just paused, unseen.

but the second that little voice yelled those words at you?

his whole expression shifted.

you can hear it when he steps in. the heavy silence that drops with him.

“watch your tone,” he says to her firmly, voice low, eyes narrowing. “you don’t ever talk to your mother like that.”

and even though he doesn’t raise his voice, the weight of his authority has your daughter freezing. she sniffles, eyes darting back to you in regret.

“you wanna be mad? be mad,” he says. “but not at her. you don’t hurt the one person who’s always gonna take care of you, even when you’re actin’ like this.”

your daughter hiccups—and the moment collapses into tears. she runs to you, burying her face in your shoulder, sobbing apologies. and rafe stands behind you both, jaw tight, hand on your back like a silent promise: you don’t ever have to take it alone.

not even from your own kids.

not in his house.

not when he’s around.

[cameronsbabydoll]

hi gorgeous!! i was wondering if u would be interested in writing a little fic with scc!rafe being forced into a tea party with his daughter?? 🥹

i need something sweet with them!! and im so obsessed with scc its so creative!!

tysm!

“daddy,” she calls from the hallway, “can you come here please?”

rafe’s already sitting on the couch, freshly showered and still tired from whatever work he’d dragged himself through that day. he grunts, not really looking up from his phone. “what?”

“just come here!” she chirps again.

and maybe he wouldn’t normally. maybe old rafe wouldn’t even flinch.

but she’s got her mama’s voice — that lilting, sugar-dipped tone — and that’s always been his weakness. so he groans and pushes up with a sigh. mutters something about “this better not be some stupid game again” under his breath.

and he rounds the corner into her room — then stops dead in the doorway.

the tea party setup is extensive.

a fuzzy pink blanket laid out across the carpet. three plastic chairs, mismatched and short. barbies sitting in two of them. a dozen tiny cups and saucers lined up with plastic pastries. and right in the center, his daughter in a tutu and glitter heels, holding a tiara.

“you sit here, daddy,” she says, patting the only chair that could maybe hold him.

“absolutely not,” he says flatly.

but you’re already in the hallway, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, smiling so sweet it makes his jaw tick.

“just for ten minutes,” you say, and your daughter is beaming now.

he mutters “fuckin’—fine.” as he sits down — legs cramped, knees almost to his chest — the chair creaking in protest while his daughter places the tiara gently on his head.

“you’re a princess now,” she says seriously.

“i’m a fuckin’—”

“daddy!” she gasps. “you can’t say bad words at a tea party.”

he shuts his mouth. narrows his eyes at you as you silently laugh behind your hand.

ten minutes turns into twenty.

his daughter pours imaginary tea into his cup with careful hands. tells him he has to try the “cake” (which is just a plastic sponge). and when she leans against his arm and sighs, “i love tea parties with you, daddy,” he doesn’t even groan.

he just hums and puts an arm around her, careful not to knock over the barbie sitting beside him. plastic tiara still crooked on his head. socks half off.

and when you peek in a little later, baby on your hip, you don’t even try to tease him.

because your husband — grumpy, tired, and still very much rafe — is sitting cross-legged in a glittery hell of tea cups and doll shoes, letting his daughter braid his hair with mismatched barrettes while he pretends to sip air from a cup the size of his thumb.

and he doesn’t even look mad about it.

[cameronsbabydoll]

get to know sugar-coated chains rafe and readers kids

oldest son (golden boy turned rebel in training)

rafe’s heir, whether he wants it or not. grew up in country clubs and private schools, learning how to shake hands like a man by the time he was 10.

but also... watches his mom like a hawk. notices how quiet she gets when rafe’s in a mood. notices how her favorite things disappear over time.

gets protective in the quiet, terrifying way that is rafe. not loud like his dad — sharp like his mom.

fights with rafe a lot in high school. about how he talks to her, about what kind of man he wants him to be.

tells his mom "you don’t gotta act like everything’s okay with me, you know?" like ouch.

probably has a little rebellious streak — but only because he saw how control ate away at his mom.

daughter (the princess of rafe’s empire)

literally rafe’s weakness. can ask for anything and he will move mountains.

but also, weirdly, rafe’s biggest blindspot — because while he’s busy protecting her from boys, she’s busy watching her mom and learning about women.

steals reader’s old clothes and jewelry not because it’s fancy but because it smells like her or reminds her of her softness.

starts movie nights with her mom without asking. buys little trinkets she knows will make her smile.

probably asks reader one day in the kitchen, "is daddy always right? like... even when it hurts your feelings?" in that innocent curious way and reader has to sit down before she cries.

adores her brothers, but is closest to her mom because rafe raised her like a princess — but reader raised her like a person.

baby boy (rafe’s literal clone, but softer)

sticks to reader’s side like glue. mama’s boy in every way.

rafe spoils him rotten but he still cries for his mom at night.

always finds reader in the quiet moments — sitting beside her while she gardens, helping her pick flowers, holding her hand on the plane because he knows she doesn’t like turbulence.

probably the one that will grow up to actually mirror rafe’s protective tendencies — but with reader's gentleness stitched in.

calls her "mama" until it’s embarrassing and rafe loves that secretly.

[cameronsbabydoll]

retired!scc!rafe and scc!reader having sleepy sex on vacation

warnings: sleepy sex, soft dom/sub dynamic (18+)

the room is still warm from the sun, even with the curtains pulled halfway shut. the air smells like sunscreen and the lingering trace of your perfume. and you're curled up in bed under the covers, skin soft and glowing, bare leg draped over rafe's hip like you're glued to him.

he's meant to be napping. he swore he was gonna nap. but then you shifted in your sleep, pressing your ass right into his lap, and he let out the smallest, most defeated sigh.

"baby..." his voice is gravelly, low, chest pressed to your back. "you tryna kill me?"

you're too sleepy to answer. just make a little noise, some soft hum, head tucked into the pillow. but then you press back a little more, maybe on instinct, maybe to tease, and rafe groans into your shoulder.

his hand slides under your belly, fingers resting lightly on your stomach, holding you close while he rolls his hips slow and deep. barely moving. just enough to feel. to breathe you in.

"just wanna feel you, baby. not goin’ anywhere. just this.”

you reach behind you, searching for his arm, gripping his forearm tight while he fucks you lazy and slow. one thrust every few breaths, the room heavy and warm and still.

"feel so good,” he murmurs, mouth at your jaw, your neck, your ear. “always do."

you’re barely awake, but you whisper his name like a secret, like a prayer, and he groans again, pulling you impossibly closer.

“my girl,” he says thickly. “my pretty wife.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

how do you think scc!rafe would feel if the kids started bonding with their mom by things she really enjoys and not just because she's their mom? like, their son starts bringing home some sonny angels/calico critters for his mom cause he find out she used to collect them, or her and their daughter starts to have weekly movie nights where they see reader's favorite movies? idk what rafe did with her old clothes, but if she managed to save some of it, and now their daughter is in that phase where girls starts to wear their mom's old clothes and she founds them deep in the closet

idk just heart warming bonding time but not because they're mom and child, but because they genuinely like their mom as a person, out of that persona that rafe build for her

to him — she was always his wife. his girl. his little trophy in pearls and silk, in soft pastel manicured perfection. his to dress. his to spoil. his to control, in that warped, possessive way that rafe loves.

but their kids? they’re older now. and rafe’s walking past the living room after a long day and — wait. are his sons sitting criss-cross on the floor, helping their mother unbox her old calico critters like it’s the most normal thing in the world?

he pauses at the doorway, arms folded, watching her light up as she tells them the dramatic backstory of one tiny plastic animal family — and they’re actually listening. engaged. laughing at her jokes.

then later, their daughter — teenage, getting older, moodier — coming down the stairs in her old cardigan. the one he forgot existed. the one he probably tried to quietly retire years ago when he started curating her wardrobe more.

"where���d you find that, baby?"

"mom’s old stuff." casual. "she used to be kinda cool, huh?"

and that — that’s when it really hits rafe.

because this isn’t them loving their mother because he made her lovable — soft, pretty, untouchable. this is them loving her — the version of her that existed before him. the version that still somehow exists despite him.

and god does that do something ugly and tender to him.

maybe he gets real quiet after moments like that. thoughtful. watches her more carefully when she laughs with them, hair messy, feet tucked up, not being perfect but being loved anyway.

because he never planned for that. he planned for a wife.

not for a woman their kids would look at one day and think, god, mom’s actually kinda the coolest person we know.

and maybe — maybe for the first time in his life — rafe feels something like jealousy over it. not angry-jealous. just... aching.

because they get to love her without all the strings he tied to her. and for the first time in a long, long time — he wishes he knew how to do that too.

[cameronsbabydoll]

rafe having a business party unexpectedly stay for dinner or something and scc!reader didn’t know so she only made enough for them, so she goes without anything, and rafe overhears one of the babies being like “mama you can have my lunch tomorrow because you’ll be extra hungry since you didn’t have dinner “ or something

the night feels off from the start—he hadn’t warned you about the extra guests. not a call, not a heads-up. they just walked through the door with rafe in the lead, all polished and important, laughing about stocks or boats or whatever it was men like that talked about.

you’re polite. quiet. you set the table like you always do, apologizing gently when there aren’t enough plates, when the sides are modest and there’s not enough for everyone. rafe brushes it off like it’s nothing, like it’s not humiliating to stand there and smile while they pass around the last of the roast you spent all afternoon making.

you go without. you always do. it’s not new.

but later, when you're wiping down the table and rafe’s still entertaining, your littlest one—barely five, barefoot in the kitchen—tugs on the hem of your dress and says, voice sleepy and sweet, “mama, you can have my lunch tomorrow, okay? you’ll be extra hungry since you didn’t have dinner.”

you blink. you nod. you press your lips together and try to keep the smile steady. you ruffle their hair. thank you, baby.

rafe hears it from the hallway. he doesn’t say anything at first. but he stops laughing. his voice dies off mid-sentence when he walks past the kitchen and sees you there, pretending to be fine.

you look up, and for a second—just a flicker—there’s something in his face. guilt, maybe. or shame. but you don’t say anything.

you just rinse the last plate and turn away.

[cameronsbabydoll]

no cause scc!reader probably when her kids are older she starts like a cute etsy business and her kids help her and she’s so proud of herself and scc!rafe sees it and he sorta takes over trying to get people to invest and she’s just like “rafe is an etsy business”… here’s how it goes (ib: @rafeslittlepup)

she’s just trying to make her little handmade things—hair bows, custom recipe cards, vintage-inspired aprons—and she’s so proud of it, shipping them off in pink bubble mailers with dried flower confetti and hand-written thank you notes. it’s her soft little world, her cute side thing now that the house is quieter and the kids are older.

she’s working out of the sunroom, tea steaming beside her, favorite candle lit, typing out Etsy captions like:

“perfect for slow mornings 🌸 handmade with love 💌”

and the kids help her take pictures, package orders, even run the post office errands. her daughter helps her with aesthetic reels, her eldest son built her a little website (“just in case it blows up, mom”), and the baby boy makes stickers that say “made with love by mom.”

but then scc!rafe finds out it’s doing numbers.

and suddenly he’s pacing in the living room shirtless with glasses on, saying things like:

“you know if we brand this right we could scale. licensing deals, bulk production—baby, you’re sitting on a goldmine.”

and she’s just like 🧍‍♀️ sipping her iced matcha like

“rafe. it’s an etsy shop.”

and he doesn’t get it.

he’s running numbers, calling his lawyer, half-joking about putting it under a shell corp. meanwhile she’s just trying to make crochet mug sleeves for fall 😭

but deep down?? he’s so proud of her.

he orders from her shop using a fake name just to leave 5-star reviews.

he makes their daughter wear the bows out in public.

he gets a little shelf made for her “office” and calls it “headquarters.”

and when she hits her 1,000th sale he buys her 1,000 flowers and says,

“not bad for a housewife.”

with a smirk.

but then kisses her forehead like she just closed a million-dollar deal.

[cameronsbabydoll]

It starts small.

A new candle on the kitchen counter, something soft and sweet—vanilla and sugar, nothing like the clean, expensive scents Rafe prefers. A set of pastel dish towels, little embroidered flowers along the edges, draped neatly over the oven handle. A delicate ceramic bunny, barely the size of your palm, sitting on the coffee table like it belongs there.

Rafe notices.

He always does.

But he doesn’t say anything—not at first.

It’s just a candle. Just some towels. Just a trinket.

But then it’s a few more.

A new mug in the cabinet, pale pink and covered in tiny hearts, tucked right beside the sleek, matte-black cups he picked himself. A silk robe hanging on the back of your bathroom door, soft and delicate, not something you’d ever wear for him, but something that makes you feel good.

You don’t say anything about it. You just keep doing it.

And it drives him fucking crazy.

Not because of the money—you could drain his entire account on diamond bracelets, and he wouldn’t blink. It’s not about that.

It’s about why.

Because he knows.

He knows the way you go quiet when you’re upset. The way you swallow your anger instead of letting it out. The way you let things fester instead of saying them.

And this? This is your way of saying it.

Not yelling. Not crying.

Just filling the house with your things.

With tiny, delicate, unnecessary things.

With things that are yours, not his.

And when he sees you, standing at the kitchen counter, your fingers tracing idly over the new candle—when he sees the way you actually smile a little, something soft, something real—

He clenches his jaw.

Because for the first time in a long time, he realizes—

You don’t need him to be happy.

[cameronsbabydoll]

ssc eldest son dumps his girlfriend cause he caught her being a totally bitch towards his mother and sister

scc!eldest!son bringing home his gf home to his parents!

a/n: scc!reader is such a forgiving angel!! omg

you’d worked all morning. set out citrus salad, little deviled eggs with paprika and capers, still-warm banana bread. white linens and fresh flowers. sun spilling across the kitchen island. brunch for spring break, just like always, just like your babies liked. your eldest had brought his girlfriend down from school for the first time and you wanted her to feel welcome.

you really did.

you greeted her with a smile, soft and kind. she barely looked up from her phone.

“i’m so happy you could come, sweetheart,” you told her anyways. “if there’s anything you’re allergic to, let me know, okay?”

“um. carbs,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose at the banana bread.

you laughed gently. didn’t take it personal. just went to get the fresh-squeezed orange juice.

but your daughter heard her whisper under her breath when you walked away.

heard the way she called you embarrassing, said the food looked like a mormon cookbook nightmare.

and your son—he saw how she ignored you the whole meal. didn’t say thank you once. rolled her eyes when you offered her sunscreen before they went down to the beach. scoffed when you handed her a sunhat you’d picked out special.

it was quiet. casual. just a subtle shift in his expression. but that was the beginning of the end.

the breakup happened later that night. short and sharp and to the point.

“you’re not gonna talk about my mom like that.”

“she’s the kindest woman alive. go home.”

when you found out the next day, you sighed softly, worried for your son’s heart.

“she was a sweet girl,” you said, hand on his cheek.

“no, mom,” he said quietly. “she wasn’t.”

and when you reached for the banana bread, he swore he’d never let another girl talk down on the woman who baked it.

or the sister who watched it happen.

or the family who made him who he was.