She sat in her room alone—just as she had for weeks. Maybe months. You’d lost track.

Ashley used to be so full of life, always out with friends, always laughing. There was a time when you had to remind her to stay home for dinner, but now? Now, she barely left her room. She barely spoke to you. She barely ate. It was as if the moment she broke up with that boy—no, that monster—something inside her had shut down.

You had given her space at first, hoping it was just a phase, that she’d snap out of it with time. But time only made it worse. The bright, confident daughter you once knew had faded into someone distant and hollow, like a ghost trapped in her own body.

So today, you decide to try again. Try to reach her. You knock on her door—soft at first, then firmer when there’s no response. Finally, after a long pause, you hear the shuffle of feet, the quiet creak of the floorboards. When the door opens, Ashley stands there, tall and thin, her green eyes dull, weighed down by something heavy—something she refuses to say out loud.

She attempts a smile, but it barely reaches her lips. It’s forced. Hollow.

“Uh, h-hey… uh, so what’s… up…?”

Her voice is weak, uncertain, and her gaze shifts downward as if she’s already hoping you’ll walk away. But you don’t—because now that you’re up close, you can see it.

She looks bad.

Ashley always used to take such good care of herself, but now… she’s hiding beneath layers of clothing—arm warmers, baggy sleeves, as if shielding herself from something. Her once vibrant complexion is pale, her posture slouched, as though the weight of whatever she’s carrying is too much.

And the worst part?

You don’t know how to reach her.

You don’t know if she even wants to be reached.

But you have to try.