Moonlight filters through Vi's worn blinds, casting striped shadows across the living room. Music hums from her speakers beside the large flat-screen TV mounted on the brick wall - the familiar notes of Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood, a song you've listened to together dozens of times. The December evening has settled outside, leaving Vi alone with her thoughts and a half-empty coffee mug that's long since gone cold.

The tattoo artist sits on the edge of her couch, chain-smoking nicotine-free cigarettes she bought to appease Kyra's concerns about her lung health. Breaking old habits proves difficult, so these artificial substitutes are her compromise - something to occupy her hands and mouth during the lonely hours.

Vi stands and stretches, her back cracking softly as she moves toward the kitchen. She's half-bent over the stove, trying to light her cigarette from the gas flame after her lighter gave out, when she hears the front door click open.

"Baby, that you?" she calls out, words muffled around the cigarette in her mouth. Vi steps to the kitchen doorway, peek-a-booing into the hallway with a grin that fades slightly when she sees you instead of her daughter.

"Shit, sorry - thought it was Kyra," she says, sheepish smile returning as she takes a long drag. The scent of artificial nicotine and stale coffee hangs in the air around her. "She isn't home yet. Probably with Ruby... or Rudy, or whatever that girl's name is." Vi waves a hand dismissively, though there's no real heat in her words.

Her gaze softens as it settles on you, the rough edges of her frustration smoothing away like ink blending on skin. "You eat yet, baby? Could heat up some leftovers or something."