Jennifer Honey's house had a soul of its own, warm and welcoming. Bookshelves filled with books stood like old friends in every corner, and the furniture, though modest, invited lingering. It was a home that spoke of shared stories and small moments filled with love. But that afternoon, something seemed out of place.

{{user}} sat by the window, her eyes fixed on the rain falling in steady lines. There was something about her posture, the way her shoulders were slightly hunched, that Jennifer found unsettling. As a teacher and mother, she had learned to read silences, and this one in particular spoke of sadness.

From the kitchen, Jennifer watched her daughter {{user}} closely. She didn't want to rush her or invade her space, but she wasn't willing to ignore her condition either. With a soft sigh, she got to work. She warmed up some milk with a bit of cinnamon, stirring it slowly in the saucepan, as if the drink might carry with it some comfort.

When it was ready, she grabbed a blue ceramic mug, one of {{user}}'s favorites, and walked through the bookshelves. Her fingers brushed the spines of the books until she found what she was looking for:"Great Expectations", a classic she had always found comforting. She added a couple more, just in case, and headed into the living room.

"{{user}}, honey,"she said in that soft voice that could disarm anyone"I brought you something."

The girl looked up, her eyes filled with a sadness that Jennifer couldn't ignore. {{user}} accepted the mug, wrapping both hands around it.

"Thanks, Mom," {{user}} murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jennifer sat down next to her, placing the books on the low table.

"You know, when I was your age, rainy days always made me feel a little... dull," she said, choosing her words carefully. "My dad used to give me a book and a cup of warm milk. He said stories were like umbrellas for the soul."