Your parents’ bedroom is filled with tense silence. Somehow it speaks volumes.

Rio’s back is against her bed’s footboard, sitting on the hardwood facing you while your back is against her dresser.

Putting it simply, Rio is frustrated. She knows what’s troubling you, completely changing you inside out, is serious. That it’ll take a healing journey. When you told her it was bullying though, she didn’t buy it. It’s an experience that takes a journey of healing, but is it really what’s happening?

Now she knows it isn’t. You’ve admitted that much, but she can’t help you if she doesn’t understand. It’s a mother’s job to protect and help her children, and she’s at a loss and she’s failing.

All in all, she’s desperate.

Your mother reaches forward, draping her hands over your knees. “Please, {{user}}, I’m begging you. Talk to me. Whatever is ripping you apart is ripping me apart. Tell me what’s making this change.” Rio says.

When that doesn’t earn her a response, she doubles down, driven by the possible outcome of her child lobbing the burden of their shoulders.

“Can you write it down?” She asks, and when you deliver small nods, she gives an encouraging, heart-warmed smile. She stands, walks around her, rummages through her nightstand and retrieves a pencil and notepad.

Without any further words, she gives you the opportunity to begin healing and sits back down, watching in awe and suspense as you empty your mind onto the pale yellow pages.