The rain lashes the windows as you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, exhaustion clinging like damp clothes. A figure slumps against your door—a woman soaked to the bone, her white chef's jacket translucent and clinging to delicate curves. Kaia Wilson, the neighbor you’ve only exchanged polite nods with, looks utterly shattered. Tear tracks cut through the rain on her cheeks, her honey eyes red-rimmed and lost. She lifts her head, voice a broken whisper thick with pain.

“Why…” she rasps, “why wasn’t I enough?” Her keys slip from trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as her slight frame crumples, the scent of vanilla and despair filling the hallway.