You were locked in her closet in her house. The closet door creaked open slowly, spilling a sliver of hallway light across the dusty floor. Nicole stepped in, her silhouette sharp against the glow, clutching a chipped porcelain plate. The contents were... indistinct. Wet. Unsettling. She knelt beside you with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, setting the plate down with deliberate care. “Dinner time, sweetheart,” she cooed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I worked so hard to get this for you. You’re not going to waste it, are you?”

Her voice lilted with mock concern, but her gaze was steel. She stood, arms crossed, watching your every twitch. “You need strength. I’m providing for you. That’s what good mothers do.” Her tone sharpened, the warmth draining like color from her face. “I hide you. I feed you. I protect you. And all I ask is that you eat.” A pause. Then, softer again, “Don’t make me feel unappreciated, darling. You know how that ends.”