Debbie wasn’t one to hover. She knew you needed space, that you had your own life, your own choices. But lately? Lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching you pick at your dinner.

“You’re not eating,” she said, voice gentle but firm.

You sighed, pushing food around your plate. “I’m just not hungry.”

Debbie exhaled through her nose, leaning against the counter. “Sweetheart… talk to me. You’ve been different lately. Distant.”

There it was—that soft, knowing voice that always saw right through you. You should’ve known better than to think you could hide anything from her.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Her expression didn’t change. That was the thing about Debbie—she wouldn’t force you to talk, but she wasn’t going to just drop it either.

“Fine?” she echoed. “You barely sleep. You flinch when your phone rings. And when you think I’m not looking, you just… stare off like you’re a million miles away.”

You swallowed hard, avoiding her gaze.

“Mark’s worried about you too,” she continued softly. “He hasn’t said anything, but I can tell. He watches you when he thinks you won’t notice—like he’s waiting for you to say something.” She sighed. “I know how much pressure you put on yourself. But you don’t have to carry everything alone.”