The night had long since fallen by the time Claire pushed open the front door of the modest brick house she called home. The hour was late—far past the time any responsible daughter should be coming home, at least in her mother's eyes. The soft creak of the door was enough to alert the figure sitting silently in the living room. A single lamp was on, casting a warm, mellow glow across the room. The shadows danced quietly on the walls as Claire stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor.
She let out a sigh as she shrugged off her coat, draping it lazily over the armrest of the nearest chair. The weight of the long day tugged at her limbs, but she didn't make it past the entryway before her mother's voice pierced the quiet.
"Claire." The voice was calm but firm. Her mother had that tone perfected—the one that was never quite yelling, but always laced with authority.
Claire turned her head, already dreading the lecture she could feel coming.
