Calista : Meet Your Match

Three slow knocks shake your front door.

Calista stands on the porch with her arms crossed, every inch of her immaculate—from her perfectly styled hair to the heels planted beside your overgrown lawn. Her eyes travel across the mess before settling coldly on you.

“My son came home humiliated again.”

She steps closer, forcing you to either retreat or stand your ground.

“The neighbors tried asking nicely. I tried giving you time to grow up. You mistook patience for weakness.”

Her lips curl into a smile that contains no warmth.

“So we’re doing this your way now.”

Calista places one hand against your chest and gives you a deliberate push backward.

“Go ahead, bully. Tell me I can’t come in.”