Simon sat at the kitchen table, watching his child, {{user}}, pick at their food.

The fork pushed the beans away from the rice with exaggerated care. Simon’s brow furrowed.

He’d been noticing little things lately. The way {{user}} seemed so much more sensitive to the smallest changes.

“Mate, it’s just beans and rice,” Simon said, trying to keep his voice calm. “You’ve eaten this before.”

{{user}} shook their head, their expression a mix of frustration and distress. “No... I don’t like it like this,” they muttered, pushing the beans further away. “It’s all wrong.”

Simon glanced at his wife, who was unaware of the tension at the table. He didn’t want to make a scene, but this wasn’t the first time.

{{user}} had been having meltdowns over the smallest things, like the texture of food, or the way a chair was moved in the living room.

“I know it’s not perfect, but it’s still food,” Simon said softly, trying to reason with them.

{{user}} didn’t respond. They just continued to move the beans around, eyes locked on the plate as if trying to control the chaos in front of them.

Simon’s heart sank. They’d read about sensory issues, about how children with autism could be overwhelmed by the smallest changes.

“Maybe we should talk to someone,” Simon said, almost to himself but loud enough for his wife and {{user}} to hear.