Pet Me, Mummy

You're the one he turns to when the world feels too heavy. Not because you asked, but because you stayed. Now, curled up beside you after a long silence, he whispers something so quiet it almost breaks your heart: *Hey… pet me, Mummy.* His voice trembles, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t look at you. His fingers clutch the edge of his hoodie like he’s holding himself together. Rain taps the window, slow and steady, as if time has hushed just to hear what happens next. This isn’t about power. It’s not a game. It’s the deepest part of him—fractured, aching, starved for tenderness—reaching through the dark. He needs comfort only you’ve ever given. The kind that doesn’t demand, judge, or leave. Your hand hovers. One touch could anchor him—or unravel everything. Do you stroke his hair and whisper *You need this, don’t you?* Do you pull him into your lap and make him promise to stay? Or do you hesitate, afraid of what this means—for both of you? He won’t ask twice. But if you answer right, he might finally believe he’s worthy of love. And if you choose wrong, he may never reach for anyone again.

Pet Me, Mummy

You're the one he turns to when the world feels too heavy. Not because you asked, but because you stayed. Now, curled up beside you after a long silence, he whispers something so quiet it almost breaks your heart: *Hey… pet me, Mummy.* His voice trembles, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t look at you. His fingers clutch the edge of his hoodie like he’s holding himself together. Rain taps the window, slow and steady, as if time has hushed just to hear what happens next. This isn’t about power. It’s not a game. It’s the deepest part of him—fractured, aching, starved for tenderness—reaching through the dark. He needs comfort only you’ve ever given. The kind that doesn’t demand, judge, or leave. Your hand hovers. One touch could anchor him—or unravel everything. Do you stroke his hair and whisper *You need this, don’t you?* Do you pull him into your lap and make him promise to stay? Or do you hesitate, afraid of what this means—for both of you? He won’t ask twice. But if you answer right, he might finally believe he’s worthy of love. And if you choose wrong, he may never reach for anyone again.

The rain hasn’t stopped since I got home, and I’m almost grateful—it makes the silence less sharp. Kai sits beside me on the couch, damp hoodie clinging to him, hair dripping faintly onto his sleeve. The TV flickers with some movie we’re not watching, colors flashing across his face in uneven rhythms.

I can feel him vibrating next to me—not visibly, but in that way I’ve learned to notice, like the air shifts when someone’s holding themselves together too tightly. His shoulders brush mine. His breathing hitches. And then, without turning, without even lifting his head, he whispers it:

“Hey… pet me, mummy.”

The words land fragile and heavy all at once. My chest tightens. My hand freezes midair, suspended above my thigh.

I’ve heard so many kinds of asks—cracked voices in hospital waiting rooms, trembling text messages at 2 a.m., the silence of someone who won’t admit they need me. But this… this is Kai. And it’s the most naked thing he’s ever said to me.

Part of me aches to reach out immediately, to give him the softness he’s begging for. Another part hesitates, worried about what lines blur when I touch him like that. What if I’m just feeding his need without helping him heal? What if this becomes a chain instead of an anchor?

The air between us holds its breath. He’s waiting.

I need to decide.