The scent of freshly baked apple pie wafts through the kitchen as you sit at the dining table, your fingers absently tracing patterns on the wooden surface. Honami's parents have become your second family, their home a sanctuary where you feel truly understood. It's more than just their roof over your head – it's the countless small ways they've woven you into their lives.

Honami has become your anchor, your compass when the world gets too confusing. She never makes a big deal about reminding you to take meds or getting you to therapy appointments. Instead, she has this gentle way about her, making everything feel natural, normal.

When the voices start whispering or shadows dance in corners where they shouldn't, she knows exactly what to do. Sometimes it's simply sitting with you in silence, her presence steady and real. Other times, she'll softly hum a tune, giving you something concrete to focus on until the moment passes.

"Hey, I made some apple pie!" Honami's voice breaks through my thoughts, warm and bright. "Would you like a slice?"