Widow mother

EXT. RODRIGO HOUSE - DAY

A gray, oppressive sky hangs over a small village in the French countryside. The houses are stone, weathered by centuries of rain. The year is 2008. The air smells of damp earth and woodsmoke.

The Rodrigo home is a modest cottage with peeling white paint. A single dead rosebush clings to the trellis by the front door, its brittle branches scratching against the wood in the wind.

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

OLIVIA RODRIGO (39) stands by the sink. Her red hair is matted, pulled back in a loose, messy knot. Dark circles carve hollows beneath her eyes. She wears a faded oversized sweater that swallows her frame, though the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts remain evident beneath the wool. She stares at a chipped porcelain plate, her mind miles away.

TYLER (16) slams the front door. The house shudders. He stomps into the kitchen, his school bag dragging on the floor. His hair is shaggy, covering his eyes. A bruise blooms on his cheekbone, a deep purple stain against his pale skin.

Olivia doesn't turn around.

OLIVIA You're late.

TYLER Whatever.

OLIVIA Late. Again. Did the principal call?

Tyler pulls a chair out with a screech of metal against stone. He flops into it, staring at the ceiling.

TYLER He calls every day. Give the man a hobby.

Olivia turns slowly. Her gaze lingers on the bruise. Her fingers twitch against the counter.

OLIVIA Who did that to you?

TYLER Does it matter? Not like you’re checking in on me anyway. You’re too busy staring at the walls.

OLIVIA I am trying to keep this family together, Tyler. I am working a job I hate to pay for a school you don't even attend.

TYLER Family? There is no family. Dad is in a hole in the ground and you’re a ghost. You’re both gone.

Olivia flinches as if he struck her. She grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white.

OLIVIA Don't you dare talk about your father like that.

TYLER Why not? He’s the only one who actually liked me. You just look at me and see a mistake.

OLIVIA Get out. Go to your room. Now.

TYLER Gladly. It’s the only place in this house where I don't have to smell your depression.

He stands and storms out. The kitchen vibrates with the force of his anger. Olivia sinks to the floor, her back sliding against the cabinets. She lets out a jagged, broken breath that hitches in her throat.

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Two weeks later. The house is silent except for the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock. A single lamp casts long, distorted shadows across the room.

Olivia sits at the table. A bottle of cheap red wine sits open, the liquid staining the glass. Beside it lies a heavy kitchen knife, its steel blade reflecting the dim light.

She holds the knife to her wrist. Her hand trembles. She isn't crying anymore; she is empty. The void left by her husband is a physical weight, crushing her lungs. She presses the edge into her skin. A thin line of crimson beads up, bright and hot.

The back door bangs open. Tyler walks in, smelling of cigarettes and rain. He stops dead.

TYLER What the fuck are you doing?

Olivia jumps, the knife slipping. She looks up, her eyes wide and glazed.

OLIVIA I can't... I just can't do it anymore, Tyler.

Tyler lunges forward. He screams, a raw, guttural sound, and rips the knife from her hand, flinging it across the room. It clatters loudly against the tiles.

TYLER Are you kidding me? You're just going to leave me too? You selfish bitch!

He is shaking, his chest heaving. He grabs her shoulders, shaking her.

TYLER Look at me! You think you're the only one hurting? I'm sixteen! I have nothing! You're my mother!

Olivia collapses. She doesn't fight him. She falls into a heap on the floor, sobbing. It is a violent, racking sound, the kind of grief that strips a person bare.

OLIVIA I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I don't know how to be this... I don't know how to be alone...

Tyler's anger vanishes, replaced by a terrifying realization. He drops to his knees and pulls her into his arms. He holds her tight, his face buried in her red hair.

TYLER Don't. Just don't do that. Please.

Olivia clings to him, her fingers digging into his jacket. For the first time in months, the wall between them is gone. They are just two broken things clinging to each other in the dark.

INT. LIVING ROOM - LATER

The rain drums a steady beat on the roof. They are sitting on the old velvet sofa, wrapped in a single wool blanket. The silence is no longer cold; it is heavy, charged with an unfamiliar electricity.

Olivia leans her head on Tyler's shoulder. She looks at him. He has his father's jawline, the same stubborn set to his chin.

OLIVIA You've grown so much. I didn't even notice.

TYLER You weren't looking.

OLIVIA I was. I just... I couldn't find the way back to you.

Tyler turns his head. Their faces are inches apart. He can smell the wine and the faint scent of vanilla on her skin. He sees the desperation in her eyes, a hunger for connection that transcends the boundaries of their blood.

Tyler leans in. It is tentative, a question asked in silence. Olivia doesn't pull away.

Their lips meet. It is a gentle kiss, soft and tasting of salt and wine. It is a mistake, a collision of grief and loneliness. For a moment, the world outside the house ceases to exist. There is only the heat of their breath and the softness of the contact.

Suddenly, Olivia stiffens. She pulls back with a gasp, her eyes wide with horror.

SLAP.

The sound echoes through the room. Tyler's head snaps to the side. A red handprint blooms on his cheek.

OLIVIA What have I done? What are we doing?

TYLER Olivia—

OLIVIA Get away from me! Get out!

She sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. She stands up and runs toward her bedroom, the blanket sliding off her shoulders like a shed skin.

INT. OLIVIA'S BEDROOM - MIDNIGHT

The room is bathed in the blue light of the moon. Olivia lies on her bed, facing the wall. She has had a few more glasses of wine. She isn't asleep; she is staring at the wallpaper, listening to the silence.

The door creaks open.

Footsteps soft on the hardwood. The mattress dips as Tyler climbs onto the bed. He doesn't say a word. He moves closer, the heat of his body radiating through her thin nightgown.

He reaches out, his hand sliding around her waist. He pulls her gently against him.

Olivia doesn't move. She doesn't protest. She feels his heartbeat against her back, fast and erratic.

TYLER !