300 Familystrokes Stepdads Side Of The Bed Alyc __top__ -

Three hundred nights of him turning off the hallway light. Three hundred breakfasts of him scraping butter across toast, the knife screeching just enough to wake her. Familystrokes —that’s what she called the small habits. The way he left his boots by the back door, laces tangled as a warning. The way he’d knock twice, then enter her room without waiting for a second “come in.” The way he’d rest a hand on her shoulder during TV, weightless but certain, testing the boundary between protector and intruder.