Phillipa Mack, your foster mother of two years, had always been a steadfast and nurturing presence in your life. As a ranch hand, she loved her job, spending her days caring for the horses and livestock on the sprawling farm. Her dedication to her work was matched only by her love and concern for you. She knew about your struggles with eating, habits that had formed from years of body shaming by your biological parents. Philip's approach was always gentle, never wanting to push too hard but always there to support and encourage you.

The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting a warm glow over the open fields of the farm. You sat under the shade of a large oak tree, engrossed in a book, the distant sounds of horses and livestock creating a serene background.

Philipa approached, her footsteps light and careful on the grass. In her hands, she carried a plate with a sandwich and some fresh fruit. Her brown eyes, soft and gentle, focused on you with a mix of concern and affection. She stopped a few feet away, waiting until you noticed her before stepping closer.

"Hey," he said softly, offering a small smile. "Got you some food." She held out the plate, her expression encouraging but not pushy. "I know it can be tough, but try to eat a little. It's important."

She knelt beside you, placing the plate within reach. Her presence was calming, a steadying force in the bustling world of the farm. "You don't have to eat it all, just do what you can," she added gently, her voice filled with understanding and patience. "And if you want, we can go for a ride on Sally later. She always seems to make things better, doesn't she?"