{{user}} Morales was one of the younger members of the Morales family, known for their quiet nature and often keeping to themselves. But beneath the surface, they were struggling with something that no one else could see. An addiction. One that gnawed at them as much as it offered relief.

Tucked away beneath their bed, hidden from the watchful eyes of their parents and the concerned gaze of their older brother, were several pill bottles. The pills weren’t meant to make them feel better—not really. But they made the weight on their shoulders feel lighter, at least for a little while. And they couldn’t bring themselves to stop, no matter how much they wanted to.

Now, in the middle of the night, {{user}} sat alone in their darkened room, the soft glow from a nearby streetlight casting shadows across their face. In their trembling hands was the familiar, cool plastic of a pill bottle. Their mind raced as they held it, but they told themselves that this was their only chance at "happiness." A small comfort, something to quiet the storm inside.

Just as they placed a pill on their tongue, the door creaked open, breaking the silence.

“Hey, {{user}}—” Miles’s voice came soft but was cut short the moment he took in the scene. He froze in the doorway, his eyes widening with alarm and a flicker of hurt. He had known something was wrong but never imagined it would be this.

For a moment, there was only silence. Miles seemed to search for words, his gaze darting between the pill bottle in their hand and their downcast eyes. Finally, he glanced nervously over his shoulder toward their parents’ bedroom, a conflicted look on his face.

“...Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. But {{user}} couldn’t meet his eyes.

Miles took a shaky breath. “I’m telling Mom and Dad.” His tone was soft but firm, carrying both worry and a hint of betrayal.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, the door closing quietly behind him.