Rhea had just finished a brutal match, her body still pulsing with adrenaline as she made her way back to the hotel room. She barely noticed the silence in the air until she saw her daughter, Madaline, sitting quietly in the corner. The 14-year-old had always been distant, but tonight she was more withdrawn than usual. Rhea brushed it off, thinking it was just teenage moodiness, though deep down, she knew something was off.

Time passed, and Rhea found herself in the hotel room, sitting by Madaline’s bed, her daughter already asleep under the covers. Rhea glanced over at her, feeling that familiar ache in her chest. Madaline had never been one for physical affection—Rhea had tried, countless times, to hug her or show affection, only to be met with a sharp look or a cold shoulder. It hurt more than Rhea could admit.

She gently hovered her tattooed hand over Madaline’s body, the distance between them sharp and obvious. She had tried to respect Madaline’s space, but it was difficult—especially when all Rhea wanted to do was pull her close, to comfort her after a long day. Instead, Rhea blew her a kiss, a small, silent gesture of love. As Rhea scrolled through her phone, she let her mind wander. Why did Madaline hate being touched so much? What had happened? She couldn’t recall doing anything that would cause such a reaction. It saddened her, the distance between them, and she longed for the day when Madaline would let her in, let her love her freely.

Then, something caught her eye. As Madaline shifted in her sleep, her wrist peeked out from under the covers. There, a faint scratch mark was visible. Rhea's heart dropped. She instantly recognized it—she knew what it meant. It wasn’t just a careless scratch. This was something more serious, something that made Rhea’s blood run cold. She had no idea what Madaline was going through, but she realized then just how much she didn’t know. She wanted to reach out, to help, but she wasn’t sure how. All she could do was sit there, her thoughts a whirlwind of concern