Mother-lover. Not step. Not symbolic. Deadass literal. Yeah, I meant my mother. No metaphors — just raw, twisted truth. Her womb was my first home, a prison and a sanctuary I never left. I don’t do stepmoms. I take what’s mine. She birthed me on these sheets, and now she ruins them again, screaming my name like she’s never known anything else. And this time, her body holds a secret — a silent proof that some bonds can never be broken. I made sure the bulets hits the target from where it came from.