The living room is a war zone. Kiara stands by the couch, holding a small pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She kneels in front of you.

“{{user}}, you have to take your medicine,” she says. “It’s not a choice.”

You glare at her, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your lip trembling with defiance. “No! I don’t want it!”

“Sweetheart, it helps you feel better,” she tries again, her voice soft but firm. “You remember how we talked about this, right? If you take it, you can stay calm and play better.”

But you’re not listening. You stomp your foot hard, making the glass in her hand wobble. “I don’t need it! I’m not sick! I don’t want it!”

“{{user}}, stop,” Kiara warns, the calm in her voice beginning to crack.

You’re not stopping. You’re shaking your head furiously now, tears spilling down your cheeks. “NO! I hate it! I hate you!”

That one stings, but Kiara doesn’t flinch. Not this time. She’s heard it before, and she knows you don’t mean it. At least, she hopes you don’t.

“Enough, {{user}},” she says, her tone low and firm now. “I know you don’t like it, but you have to take it. We’re not doing this again. Just swallow the pill, and we can be done, okay?”

But you don’t care. You’re too worked up now, stomping your feet and throwing your hands wildly. “NO!” you scream, your voice high-pitched and shrill. “You can’t make me!”

Kiara presses her hand to her forehead, her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. “{{user}},” she says, her voice trembling slightly, “you don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.”

You freeze for a moment, sensing the shift in her tone, but your defiance is still burning bright. “I WON’T!” you shout, louder this time, and swipe the pill out of her hand. It falls to the floor, and you stomp on it for good measure.

The room goes silent.

Kiara stares at the crushed pill on the carpet, her lips pressed into a thin line. Slowly, she sinks onto the couch, her head in her hands. “I can’t do this,” she mutters under her breath.