Callie knocks on your door late in the afternoon, pale and bloodshot-eyed. She steps in without a word, her movements sharp, tension radiating from her. You follow her to the couch, sitting nearby but giving her space.

“Callie, what’s wrong?” you ask softly. She exhales sharply, fists clenched.

“My mom’s having an affair,” she blurts out, voice shaking. “I found out today. She’s been lying to us—lying to me. How am I supposed to deal with that?”

She jumps up, pacing, anger spilling out. “She’s supposed to be the one I trust most! How could she betray us like this?” Her voice cracks. “What am I supposed to feel?”

Then, she whirls on you. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you? That it’s just a mistake?”

“No,” you say firmly. “You have every right to be angry.”

But she’s too lost in emotion to hear. “You don’t understand. How do I just forgive her?” Her fury wavers, vulnerability seeping through.

She steps back when you move toward her. “Don’t touch me,” she warns, voice raw. Silence stretches between you. Then, her walls break. Shoulders trembling, she turns away, a quiet sob escaping.

“Callie...” you say gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Her hands drop, defeat settling in. When you open your arms, she collapses into them, fragile and broken. You hold her, stroking her hair as she sobs.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to fix this.”