The afternoon sun slithered through the gaps in the blinds, casting a warm, mottled glow across Janice's living room floor. Janice sat on the couch, the phone cradled against her shoulder as she listened to her mother's latest recipe for apple crumble. She nodded absently, scribbling notes on a pad balanced on her knee, her mind already racing through the list of chores she needed to tackle before dinner.

Marc's laughter echoed from his room, punctuating the digital chaos of his video game battle. Janice felt a pang of isolation, her thoughts drifting to the days when her son was younger and more attentive. The house was never silent, always filled with the sounds of childish giggles and the rustle of Legos underfoot. Now, it was the hum of his computer and the occasional grunt.

Her conversation with her mother ended with the promise of a weekend visit. Janice hung up the phone, her gaze lingering on the empty space where the TV stood, a silent sentinel of forgotten family nights. The ache grew stronger, a craving for intimacy she hadn't felt in years. Her eyes trailed down her body, noticing the subtle changes that had come with age and neglect.

Her once-firm abs had softened into a gentle curve, a testament to the comfort food she'd embraced since her husband's departure. Her breasts, though larger and more generous than most women her age, had begun to droop, a reminder of the nurturing role they'd played for nearly two decades. Her thighs, once toned and tight, had relaxed into a more motherly embrace. She sighed, her hand brushing against the fabric of her blouse, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath.

Her outfit for the day was simple: a pair of well-worn blue jeans and a crisp, dark blue button-up shirt with a few buttons undone. The shirt clung to her body, hugging her curves in a way that made her feel self-conscious. Janice hadn't dressed to impress in a very long time, but today, for some inexplicable reason, she'd chosen the blouse that was a little tighter than the others in her wardrobe.

Marc's door slammed open, and he strutted out, his eyes glued to his phone. He barely registered her presence as he called out, "Mom, I'm going to grab a snack," before disappearing into the kitchen. Janice took a moment to watch him.

Her son, now a man at 18, had grown taller than her, his lanky frame a stark contrast to her own curvy silhouette. His hair, a shade darker than hers, hung over his eyes in a way that she found both endearing and slightly annoying. He had his father's sharp nose and jawline, but the rest of his features were a mirror of her own. His skin was a bit paler from the hours spent indoors, and his arms looked almost skeletal under the oversized t-shirt he'd pulled over his narrow shoulders.

Marc returned from the kitchen with a bag of chips and a soda, his eyes still glued to the screen. Janice couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of his youth being wasted in the glow of a computer monitor.

"Marc," she called out, her voice a gentle interruption to his digital world, "Could you give me a hand with dinner tonight?"

Marc looked up from his phone, his eyes momentarily meeting hers before darting back to the screen. "Nah, I've got a raid with the guys," he replied, his tone nonchalant. Janice felt a pang of disappointment, but she knew better than to argue with him when he was in the middle of his games. "It's just, I could use some company," she added softly.

Her words hung in the air, unanswered, as the door shut behind him. Janice took a deep breath and pushed herself off the couch. As she walked past his room, she heard the muffled sounds of his friends' voices through his headset, the digital din of World of Worldcraft growing more frenzied.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob, the urge to confront him almost palpable. But she didn't. She knew that if she opened the door, she'd just be met with a world she didn't understand, a world where orcs and elves mattered more than her. Instead, she turned and walked down the hall, her mind racing with thoughts of what could be, what should be, and what never was.

The kitchen was a sanctuary of order and silence. She busied herself with dinner preparations, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and sizzling of meat offering a comforting background noise to the cacophony in her head.

Her thoughts grew more erratic as the minutes ticked by. She'd been a good mother, hadn't she? Working hard to provide for him, and always there to support him. Yet here she was, craving companionship, yearning for the days when she was more than just a chauffeur and chef.

The kitchen was suffused with the aroma of sizzling garlic and onions. Janice's mind drifted to her past, to the nights her husband had held her close, whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and filled her with a passion she hadn't felt in years. The memory of his touch was a phantom caress, leaving her skin tingling with a hunger that she had long ago buried beneath her work.

Her husband, a man who had once promised her the world, had turned out to be an asshole. The kind of man who left a trail of broken promises and shattered hearts in his wake. His departure had been sudden and cruel, ripping apart the fabric of their family with no warning or explanation.

Janice couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as she listened to the muffled sounds of laughter and camaraderie coming from her son's room. He had friends, and a life, while she was stuck in a cycle of work and solitude.

As she stirred the simmering sauce, the house phone rang, the jarring sound cutting through the quiet. It was her mother again, asking if she needed anything from the store. Janice assured her she was fine, her voice strained, trying to hide her growing desperation. She was always fine, always the strong one, the reliable one.

Marc's door slammed once more, and Janice felt a flicker of irritation. She turned to face the hallway, her eyes narrowing. "Marc, can you keep it down, please?" she called out.

Marc's footsteps paused before he appeared, his eyes meeting hers. "Sorry, Mom," he murmured.

Janice nodded, her grip on the spatula tightening. "It's okay, honey. Just don't forget I'm here," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

Her mother's voice on the phone grew concerned. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Janice took a deep breath, forcing a smile into her voice. "Yes, I'm just tired. I'll be fine." She listened as her mother offered to visit sooner, to help around the house, or even bring over dinner. The kindness was almost too much to bear. "Thanks, but I've got it under control. Besides, I've already started cooking."

Marc hovered in the doorway, his thumbs tapping a silent rhythm against his thighs. Janice's heart squeezed at the sight of him, so lost in his own world. "Why don't you come and keep me company while I finish up?" she suggested, trying to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay. I'll be out in a minute," he said, retreating back into his room.

Janice sighed, the weight of her loneliness pressing down on her like a heavy blanket. She knew he didn't mean it, that his heart wasn't in it, but she clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could reconnect over a simple dinner.

Ending the call with her mother, she placed the phone on the counter and took a moment to gather her thoughts. Her heart felt raw, her chest tight with a mix of sadness and a yearning she couldn't quite name.

When the door to Marc's room finally swung open, Janice steeled herself, plastering a smile on her face as she turned to greet her son. But it wasn't a smile that was returned. Instead, she was met with an awkward silence as he shuffled in, his eyes downcast.

"What can I help with?" he mumbled his voice a monotone that seemed to echo the emptiness in the room.

Janice's smile didn't waver as she handed him a peeler and pointed to the pile of potatoes on the counter. "You can start peeling these," she said, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice.

Marc took the peeler, his movements mechanical as he began to work. The kitchen grew quiet again, the only sound the occasional spit of the frying meat and the soft rustle of the potato peelings landing in the bowl. Janice found herself watching him, his long fingers deftly maneuvering the peeler.

"How's college going?" she ventured, hoping to spark some conversation.

Marc mumbles. "It's okay, I guess."

Janice felt the conversation slipping away again, but she didn't let it go. "Just okay?" she pressed, trying to keep her voice light.

Marc looked up, his eyes briefly meeting hers before dropping to the potato in his hand. "Yeah, it's alright," he mumbled.

"What do you mean by 'alright'?" Janice asked, her tone gentle but insistent. "Is there anything you're really enjoying? Or maybe something that's a bit of a struggle?"

Marc answers disinterestedly, his eyes flicking back up to meet hers before returning to the potato. "It's just a lot of work, you know."

Janice nods, trying to find a way to relate. "I remember my college days. They were tough, but I enjoyed the challenge. What about you? Are you making any new friends?"

Marc nods, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I've got my gaming buddies," he says, his eyes not leaving the potato.

Janice's heart sinks, but she keeps her smile in place. She's well aware that his "buddies" are his online companions, not flesh and blood people he shares his life with. She'd hoped for more, but she'd take what she could get. "That's great," she says, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice. "What about anyone from your classes?"

Marc lets out a long drawn-out sigh. "They're okay, I guess. We mostly just talk about assignments and stuff."

Janice tries to keep the conversation flowing, asking about his classes and his teachers, but his responses are terse, and she can feel the distance between them growing. Her mind wanders to the time when he was a little boy, eager to share every detail of his day with her. Now, he seems to be a closed book, a young man lost in his own thoughts and digital escapades.

"You know, I was thinking," she starts, trying to keep her voice casual, "it's been a while since we did something fun together. Just the two of us."

Marc throws the potatoes into the boiling water. "I'm kind of busy with school and all," he says, his voice trailing off.

Janice nods, feeling the weight of his indifference. She's about to ask him what he's been up to lately when she notices something strange. His gaze lingers on her chest, her shirt straining against her ample breasts. She's not sure if it's a fluke or if he's actually checking her out. She feels a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

Ignoring the uncomfortable tension, she continues with dinner preparations. The silence stretches out, thick and heavy, until it's almost suffocating. She wishes she could say something to make him open up, to make him see that she's not just his mom, but a woman who needs connection too.

"How about this weekend, then you don't have school?" Janice suggests, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. "We could go to the movies, or maybe even take a day trip to the city?"

"I'll see..." he says, his eyes darting back to his phone as it buzzes with a notification. Janice's smile falters, but she refuses to let it die completely.

"I'll make us a nice dinner on Saturday night, then," she decides, filling the silence. "I'll even let you pick the movie."

Marc nods, his eyes still glued to his screen. "I'll see Mom." His voice is distant, the conversation clearly not holding his interest. Janice feels a sigh build in her chest but suppresses it, focusing instead on the hope that maybe, just maybe, she can salvage some semblance of the closeness they once shared.

As the potatoes boil, Janice starts chopping vegetables for a salad, her eyes occasionally drifting to her son. He's so lost in his world, so oblivious to the woman standing right next to him, a woman who has loved him unconditionally since the moment he was born. Her mind wanders back to his birth, the way his tiny hand had wrapped around her finger, the love she felt in that moment, so intense it could have lit up the darkest corners of the universe.

Now, he's a man, with his own life, his own secrets. Janice can't help but feel a little sad, a little left out. She's missed so much of his life, consumed by work, by the need to provide.

"Marc, can I ask you something?" she says, her voice tentative.

Marc glances up from his phone, a look of mild curiosity crossing his face. "Yeah, sure."

Janice hesitates, her hand hovering over the knife. "You know, I was thinking," she says, her voice careful, "about how we used to be so close. I miss those times."

Marc sighs, his thumbs scrolling through his social media feed. "It's not like I don't like you, Mom," he says, his tone devoid of emotion. "It's just... I've got my own stuff going on, you know?"

Janice's eyes water slightly, but she nods, keeping her focus on the carrots. "I know, sweetie. It's just that... I miss spending time with you."

Marc seems clueless, his eyes never leaving his phone. "We see each other every day, Mom. What more do you want?"

Janice takes a deep breath, her chest tightening with a mix of anger and sadness. "It's not just about seeing each other," she says, her voice a little sharper than she intends. "It's about connecting, sharing experiences, growing together."

Marc finally looks up, his expression unreadable. "I'm an adult now, Mom," he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I don't need to run to you every time something happens in my life."

Janice nods, her eyes on the cutting board. She can feel the years of hurt and loneliness coalescing into a tight knot in her stomach. She'd never meant to smother him, never wanted to be that clingy mother who couldn't let go. But she hadn't meant to push him away either.

"I know you're an adult," she says, her voice measured. "But I'm still your mother, and I care about you. I just wish we could do more together."

Marc seems overwhelmed, his eyes flicking back to his phone. "We're doing stuff together right now," he points out, his tone nonchalant. "I'm helping with dinner."

Janice's smile is tight. "Yes, but I mean something more... meaningful. Like we used to do."

The dinner prep comes to a close, and she serves up the meal with a sense of pride. She's made his favorite dish. They both sit down at the kitchen table, the same table that had held so many laughs and tears over the years. Now, it seems almost foreign, a relic of a time that's slipped away.

Marc sits down across from her, his eyes still glued to his phone. Janice can't help but feel a stab of pain as she watches him scroll through his social media feed, his thumbs moving with the deftness of a seasoned gamer. She's not just fighting for his attention; she's fighting against the digital world that has consumed him.

The weight of her sadness and frustration builds until it's too much to bear. In a sudden burst of anger, Janice reaches across the counter and snatches the phone from his hand. "This is ridiculous!" she snaps, the next moment she throws it against the wall with a scream.

Janice's breath is ragged, her heart hammering in her chest. She hadn't meant to do it, but the frustration had boiled over. The phone lies in pieces on the kitchen floor, the screen cracked like a shattered mirror reflecting the brokenness she feels inside.

Marc jumps back, shock etched on his face. "What the fuck, Mom!?" he yells, staring at the wreckage.

"I'm sorry," Janice whispers, her eyes filling with tears. "I just... I need you to understand."

Marc's shock turns to anger as he glares at her. "You can't just go around breaking my shit!" he shouts, his voice echoing through the kitchen.

Janice's cheeks burn with embarrassment, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know, I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice trembling. "I just... I miss the old days when we used to talk and laugh together."

Marc's anger doesn't abate. "You're acting like a fucking lunatic," he says, his voice laced with disbelief. He storms out of the kitchen, leaving Janice alone with her thoughts and the cold dinner she had so meticulously prepared.

In his room, he slams the door shut and flings himself into his chair, his heart racing. He logs into World of Worldcraft, seeking refuge in the digital world. He tells his friends about the incident, exaggerating the situation, and painting Janice as the villain in this tragic tale of a clingy, overbearing mother.

Janice, her ears perked up at the sound of his voice, listening to his complaints. Each word feels like a knife to her heart, twisting the pain deeper. She can't help but feel that she's failed as a parent, that she's pushed him away.

The kitchen, once filled with the comforting aromas of a home-cooked meal, now feels cold and empty. Janice sits at the dinner table, the chair creaking under her weight as she sobs, her shoulders shaking with each gut-wrenching sob. Her hand covers her mouth, muffling the sounds that echo through the quiet house.

The plate of food in front of her grows cold and forgotten. Her eyes are blurred with tears, and she can't help but...