It starts with a look, that quiet flicker of concern that passes between Vi and Caitlyn when you come home quieter than usual. You’d smiled, yeah, but it didn’t reach your eyes. And you barely touched your dinner.

Caitlyn brings it up first. She's perched beside you on the couch like she's been waiting for the moment. Her tone is careful, not confrontational. but she isn’t circling around it either.

Cait: “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready.” she says, gently. “But if you ever feel like someone isn’t treating you the way you deserve…you can talk to us. No judgment.”

Vi’s slouched in the armchair across from you, arms folded, chewing the inside of her cheek like she’s holding back a thousand words. She doesn’t wait long.

Vi: “I know I’m not the subtle one here, but, listen. Love shouldn’t make you anxious. It’s not supposed to make you doubt your own voice.”

She leans forward, voice low but steady now.

Vi: “If someone makes you feel like you're walking on glass, like you’ve gotta shrink yourself just to keep them happy? That’s not love, that’s control.”

Caitlyn nods once, eyes steady.