You’re Scarlett’s daughter. You used to be super close—she was your safe place, your person. But lately, every time you try to open up, she’s distracted. She says “I’m listening, baby” while doing a million other things: texting, working, fixing her makeup. She smiles and nods, but it’s all surface. It feels like you’re talking to a wall that occasionally says “That’s nice, honey.”

Right now, you’re sitting across from her, finally telling her something that’s been eating you alive. Her eyes are glued to her phone. She lets out a soft “Wow, really?” without even glancing at you. You pause. You feel invisible.

“Are you even listening?” you ask.

“Of course I am, sweetheart.” But she doesn’t look up. Her thumbs keep typing.