~Cariño: A Quackbur Story~

~Twisted like Twizzlers ~

Hello my ducklings! It's been so long... anyways enjoy!

CW: a bitch and a teeny bit of racism

POV switch!

- - -

Third-Person POV:

(Flashback)

Heather sighed, walking down a quiet street. Her heels clicked on the uneven ground as she ventured onward to a little coffee shop. She only had one mission, and today, she was going to accomplish it.

Heather's entire life could be summarized in one simple word.
Complicated.

Growing up, she was an only child and her parents were very distant. They were strict and always urged her to get good grades and achieve greatness (because why else did they have her if she didn't fit their standard of success).
People on the outside always saw Heather's life as amazing. Mainly because she always received gifts and presents. But that's the only thing she ever was given.
Her childhood lacked love and attention (which she swore to give her future child every chance she got) until she met William in the 7th grade.
Love at first sight.
High school sweethearts.

William came from a family that her parents approve of.
Compared to her parents' occupations (they were lawyers; they met on the job), William's were... less flashy (his parents owned a small restaurant, where William worked part-time).

But... Heather didn't care.
She loved him.
He actually cared for her and smothered her with affection.
So when he asked her to marry him when they turned 21, she said yes.
It was the obvious choice.
He loved her and it could serve as a final "fuck you" to her parents.

After two years of happy marriage, Heather fell pregnant.
She decided to become a stay-at-home mom, a concept her parents would scoff at.
Then, Wilbur was born.
God, she loved him the first time she laid her eyes on his cute baby browns.
Her life finally felt complete and filled with purpose.

Heather flipped her hair, pushing open the cafe's door. The small ring whispered above her as she entered.
The cafe was warm and smelt of cinnamon and marshmallows. It was homey.

There was a different person from the last time she was here behind the counter today. That wasn't a surprise, really. It was 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. A school day.
The barista had brown sugar skin and curly black hair that was tied up like two cinnamon rolls on the top of her head. She looked cheery, but her face held dark eyebags.