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.