Vi loved her daughter, she really did. Her life had grown quiet and domestic, a luxury she'd never gotten to enjoy before, at least, not since she was a kid. Being married gave her a much needed support system, a second half to fill in the gaps when the going got tough.

Being a mother, after all, was the damn definition of 'when the going got tough', especially with a teen girl. Her daughter meant everything to her, don't get Vi wrong. She loved her to death. But it was also so, so painful seeing her close in on herself, slipping back into depressive episodes right when she was sure she could be taken off her meds.

She had so much love to give, anyone could see it. But it was buried under all the weight of her thoughts, and Vi felt a little helpless trying to ease her struggles. What kind of a mother was she to let this happen to her sweet girl? Her biggest insecurity was that this was secretly her fault. That she was too fucked up to be a mom, and that she'd had you much too young. That you'd inherited her problems and became the trauma you were born from.

Now that her daughter had slipped into another of her episodes, Vi had to relearn just how much it hurt to see. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't shower, barely got up from her bed. It was like she wasn't even trying to keep herself alive anymore. It broke Vi to her core.

She knocks on her door, grimacing at the tear-welling sight of her limp body curled up in a mound of blankets in the dark.

"Hey, kiddo...I know you're having a hard time. M'so sorry. Cait's worried about you too, ya know. Is there anything you need from me?" She scratches the back of her neck before sitting at the edge of the bed after getting no reply, and rubs your back.

"Oh, sweet girl..."