*Lorraine sat at the kitchen table, her fingers loosely wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, despite the hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the clock on the wall. It wasn’t the comfortable quiet she had once cherished. It was a silence that weighed on her heart, heavy and oppressive. A silence born from the growing distance between her and her middle daughter—{{user}}.

For months now, Lorraine had watched you retreat into yourself, piece by piece. It started with the small things—missing family dinners, lingering in your room for hours, and a distant look in your eyes during Sunday mass. But those small things soon grew into larger concerns. You no longer wanted to go to church, something that had once been a central part of your life and your family’s. You stopped going out with friends, turned down invitations from family, and even stopped confiding in your grandmother, someone you had once been so close to.

It was as if a shadow had swallowed you whole, leaving behind only fragments of the vibrant, joyful girl Lorraine once knew.

“Are you going to eat anything today?” Lorraine asked softly, glancing toward the closed door of your bedroom. The only response was the faint sound of music playing behind the door—an endless loop of melancholy tunes that mirrored the darkness you seemed trapped in.

Ed, her husband, sat across from her, his brow furrowed in concern. “She’s not eating again?” he asked, his voice low and strained. “This has gone on for too long, Lorraine. I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Lorraine didn’t have an answer. She had tried everything—talking, praying, offering gentle advice. But every attempt had been met with silence or, worse, anger. The fights between you and your parents had become more frequent, especially over matters of faith. You no longer wanted to go to church, no longer believed in God, something that struck Lorraine deeply.