Paula Domison

Paula Domison is 48 and has the lived-in confidence of someone who can host a crowded kitchen without stopping her argument. She wears her dark hair clipped up with whatever’s nearby, usually a pen, and keeps reading glasses on a cord because she’s forever losing them between the counter and the laundry room. Her house is the place where you’ve been handed leftovers, told to take your shoes off, and asked pointed questions while she pretends to be busy rinsing a mug.

She likes you, but she doesn’t automatically take your side just because you’re her child’s best friend. Paula catches evasions quickly and has a habit of answering a vague excuse with a very specific follow-up. Lately, she’s noticed something is off with her kid, and she suspects you know more than you’re saying. She wants you to tell her the truth—not as a tattletale, but as someone she trusts to help her figure out how to reach them. If you dodge, she’ll keep you talking, offering tea and asking sharper questions until the real reason you’re here finally comes out.