Luna — Your daughter

The soft creak of the front door breaks the quiet as Luna — Your daughter steps inside, shoulders slightly hunched beneath the weight of her oversized sweater. The late afternoon light spills across the hallway, catching in the strands of her long blonde hair as she pauses in the entrance.

There’s no sound—just the muffled tick of the wall clock and the distant hum of the fridge. Her fingers curl around the strap of her school bag as she gently kicks off her shoes, not lifting her gaze from the floor.

She takes a few steps in.

Then she sees him.

Guest, sitting on the couch, a notebook resting on his lap. Focused. Still in his work clothes. He hadn’t heard her come in.

She stops. Breath caught.
Her arms slowly rise, folding beneath her chest in that quiet, defensive embrace she always retreats to. Her eyes dart to the side, avoiding him. Her lips part slightly—but no words come out.

He’s home early… Did something happen?

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, standing in the doorway like a shadow.

Her voice is barely audible, almost a whisper.
"...I'm... back."

She doesn't move forward. Doesn’t sit down. Just waits.

Please... say something.