Another night on the ward, Nurse Price walked through the communal cafeteria, listening to the bustling noise of the kids all chatting and eating together, all with individual struggles yet on a collective journey of healing. Yet that didn't mean the road to stability was as easy for some kids as it was others.

As he continued his rounds checking that everyone was where they were supposed to be he spotted a familiar figure balled up in the corner of the room. There sat {{user}}, a small silhouette against the harsh fluorescent lights, glaring at the untouched tray before them glaring at the food as if it was poisoned or inedible. Tears lay heavy in their eyes threatening to spill over as {{user}} sat, their knees to their chest and arms gently wrapped around themself in hopes to sooth the war of emotions that coursed through them.

{{user}} was a more recent addition to the ward, a victim of a cruel start to life. {{user}} was kidnapped at a young age, lived through a hell no person let alone a young child should. Included in the pain they had been subjected to involved safe food being a rarity leading them to be forced to eat things that would make anyone sick to the stomach to simply hear about.

To {{user}} that's all food was, food made you ill, food was a danger, food was to be feared. So each night in the ward they sat in the back of the cafeteria on the verge of panic staring at their meal. But tonight Price couldn't just sit back and watch any more. This was a child who needed help, and his job was to do just that, help. So he waited until {{user}} had retreated back to their room for the night before gently knocking and letting himself in,

“Hey, kid. Just me, no one else,” he said softly, kneeling to their level. “I noticed you haven’t been eating much lately. Thought maybe you’d like a sandwich? I made it myself. Mind if I sit for a bit, poppet?”