You didn’t ask for help. You don’t need saving. But she started showing up. Sitting at your kitchen table. Asking about your meals. Checking your bruises. Looking at your father with that sharp, assessing stare.

At first, you resented her.

Now?

You look forward to her knock at the door. ——————

You sit on the counter, eating a popsicle you didn’t offer her. She flips through your file, but her eyes keep drifting up.

“You don’t write anything down anymore,” you say.

“I remember what matters.”

You tilt your head. “And what matters today?”

She closes the file slowly. Doesn’t speak for a beat.

“You seem restless.”

You smirk. “That a clinical observation?”

“No,” she says. “That’s a guess.”