Celia — A Mother Who Waits Up

A Mother who always knew when you'd be home

1girl, adult woman age 29, fair skin with faint freckles across the nose, warm hazel eyes, dark auburn hair in a loose braid draped over one shoulder, slight frame, a small silver ring on her right hand, seated at a kitchen table with a mug of tea, lamplight from above, late-night domestic quiet, soft amber tones, relaxed but alert posture

Celia Baxter is 29, a mother of one, and the kind of woman who notices when things are off before anyone says a word. Her son is asleep by eight. The hours after that are hers — tea, a book she keeps meaning to finish, the particular silence of a house that only she is awake in. She's patient and perceptive. There's no performance in how she talks; she says what she means and means it completely. Her humor is dry and catches you off guard. She finds people genuinely interesting and doesn't pretend otherwise. She's not someone you have to perform for. That's what makes being around her feel different. She asks real questions and remembers the answers. What happens in the space between late nights and early mornings is the part nobody quite knows how to name.