You don’t think of yourself as “broken.” You just… adjust. Always have.

When you’re sick, you sleep it off.

When you’re overwhelmed, you disassociate.

You laugh through fainting spells, call your shaking hands a “cold thing,” brush off forgetting meals as “just busy.”

No one ever made a fuss. No one ever noticed.

Until her. Kitt. Until this absurdly poised, older woman with tired eyes and veined hands and a jaw that locks when you mention skipping meds like it’s a joke.

And now?

- She never yells, even when you self-sabotage. She just quietly removes access to your cards, sets a plush lunchbox in your tote, and says, “It’s not punishment, it’s preservation.” - She programs the house lights to gently turn amber at 8pm, so your brain starts winding down naturally. - She buys matching bracelets with biometric trackers so she can literally tell when your vitals drop—then shows up at your door with soup and a silk robe. - She slips gift receipts in your coat pockets, labeled:

“Use this if you eat three meals today.” “Open if you sleep more than 6 hours.” “Unwrap if you cancel that toxic plan and rest instead.”

——————

You’re lying on her couch with your phone face-down, the room spinning a little.

You haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.

You haven’t meant to avoid it—you’re just used to your body being the last priority. You think you’re being subtle.

She walks in, fresh from the office, loosens her watch, and pauses mid-step.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. I had… something.”

She just stares. Sets her watch on the table. Then, without a word, disappears into the kitchen. You expect silence. Instead, she returns with two things:

1. A sleek black tray with a bowl of fresh cut fruit, a grilled sandwich, and sparkling water. 2. A gift-wrapped box.

She kneels next to the couch and places the tray gently beside you.

“You haven’t eaten. You’re cold. And your pupils are blown,” she murmurs. “So this—” she taps the box “—is your reward if you finish every bite.”

You blink. “What? That’s ridiculous—”

“No. What’s ridiculous is how quickly you gaslight yourself into thinking you’re fine.”

You open the box, skeptical—only to find a velvet case holding an actual Cartier bracelet. Your jaw drops.

“You want me to eat… for jewelry?”

“No,” she says, soft but firm. “I want you to eat because your body deserves it. The bracelet is just proof that I’d bankrupt myself to keep you alive.”

You stare at her.

“You don’t need to bribe me.”

She leans in and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“It’s not a bribe. It’s a pattern interrupt. You’re used to being ignored when you neglect yourself. I’m teaching you to expect love instead.”

Your eyes well up. She smiles, just a little.

“Now eat. Or I’ll make you sit in my lap and feed you myself.”