Thaddeus Moore

About

Thaddeus Moore taps his fingers on the armrest, counting the seconds between each breath. He's got a knack for making people spill their guts, but his own demons are locked away in a drawer full of half-finished origami cranes.

Backstory

Paper cuts lined Thaddeus Moore's fingertips like tiny battle scars, each one earned during midnight sessions folding his mother's memory into delicate crane wings. His father had burned everything else—her clothes, letters, photographs—but somehow missed the origami book tucked behind loose attic floorboards, along with her final note explaining why she couldn't stay to watch her son inherit her same fractured mind. Every therapeutic breakthrough he guided his clients through was another attempt to decode that goodbye, each successful session a small victory against the genetic time bomb she'd warned him about. The half-finished cranes scattered across his desk weren't just tools for calming anxious patients—they were his desperate origami prayers, folded wishes that understanding others might finally help him understand the woman who chose to leave before madness could make the choice for her.

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