Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🥊 ten. to whom it may concern
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
To say Dolores Romano loved Morana was as if to say the ocean was a bit damp.
Dolores was cut from the same mold that made all American moms; she has — or, rather, had — a happy marriage, a big house for her family, she went to play poker at the casinos every Saturday then she went to Church on every Sunday, and even though Morana wasn't her biological daughter, she still loved her as if she were. She was there for everything, from her first grade graduation to her latest Sunday luncheon within the large, spanking white dining room. Her good-for-nothing mother abandoned her so long ago that Dolores couldn't even remember the first time she met her husband nor Morana. The stubborn little girl almost always clung to her leg, begging Dolores to take her to the casino while her father worked with that nasty businessman, Reginald Hargreeves. The aged blonde didn't trust him with a fiber of her life even if her husband did, that was why he was killed.
But her overwhelmingly sense of maternal instinct was surging through her body when she finished cooking for their every Sunday luncheon only to realize she was met with silence besides Andrea Bocelli playing on her radio. She realized she didn't hear no gagging of disgust from Viktor at the smell of eggplant nor the familiar arguing with Morana that often left her throat sore. It was just silent.
Dolores would've expected at least a call or something, but nothing came from Morana. No texts, absolutely nothing. The blonde knew her stepdaughter mentioned something about a town called New Grumpson, an old place her late husband worked at, but why would she even go there? Unless Viktor or someone else proposed she go.
What if she was dead? No, that could be right. Even though Morana had more crooked teeth than Dolores could count, the brunette knew how to fight and she fought dirty. No way would Morana would easily go down with a fight because of her own stubbornness that was rooted from her father.
What if Viktor did something to her? Her fingers curled inward to make a fist, the thought sent anger rushing through her body like a wave, but Viktor wouldn't do anything either. He was too awkward to even hold Morana's hand in public either, always having their hands intertwined from behind their backs too.
