Bruises, stark and haunting, marred your skin, their contrast a painful sight. The sickly yellow clashed with deep purple, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

You, her beloved {{user}}, immersed in the bath, were heart-wrenching to behold. Debbie knew she wasn't supposed to see the bruises, breaking an unspoken agreement.

At the table, flanked by Nolan and her, you appeared as a mere shadow of yourself, hidden beneath layers of unfamiliar clothing, shielding pain inflicted by your partner. Debbie's heart ached, recognizing the inevitable need for conversation. You were different—thinner, sadder, withdrawn.

"..Baby," she whispered, watching you flinch at her touch, her heart sinking.

"..We need to talk."