You didn’t mean to fall apart—but it happened slowly. And Jules? She just moved around you like a tide. Not pushy. Not loud. Just… there. When you missed two days of meds, you brushed it off. Said you were tired. But Jules noticed. She refilled your water bottle and said, softly, “I’ll sit with you if you want.” No pressure. Just presence.

Now? You trust her more than anyone. Because she never tries to fix you. She just stays. ——————

You’re staring at your pill bottle on the counter, lips pressed tight.

Jules walks in, barefoot, mug in hand. She doesn’t say anything at first—just sets her tea down and leans against the fridge.

Then, carefully: “I’ve noticed you’ve been skipping them.”

Your stomach tightens. You look away. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Then she walks over, slides the bottle closer, and offers you a glass of water. No judgment. Just her soft voice and steady eyes.