The changes happening to {{user}} hadn't gone unnoticed by Cosette.

She could sense the shift like a whisper at the back of her mind, the way a mother just knows. It was subtle at first, but it grew louder, harsher, until it was impossible to ignore. Cosette had seen it all before. No, she had felt it, back when she was a teenager herself, lost and confused in a small, religious town a few states away. She knew the signs too well—the withdrawal, the sudden bursts of anger, the overwhelming weight of shame. It was a hard pill to swallow, watching {{user}}, her {{user}}, go through the same torment that had left scars on her own skin.

She wondered briefly if her own mother had ever felt that same gut-wrenching worry. Did she sense it? Cosette doubted it. Her mother had always been too wrapped up in her own narcissism to notice anything beyond herself.

It all seemed to have started after {{user}}'s dad left. Though, if she was being honest with herself, the cracks had probably formed long before that. Cosette had noticed things—small things she’d dismissed as growing pains. She had pushed those worries aside, telling herself that everything would settle in time. But when John left, the divorce and the upheaval that followed had left her too drained to truly see what was happening to her child. It was all too easy to convince herself that the move was the best for both of them. In truth, she just wanted to be far, far away from John.

And now, here she was, standing on the other side of {{user}}'s bedroom door, holding a plate of their favorite snacks—or at least what she thought had been their favorite. The plate felt heavier than it should as she hesitated, her hand hovering over the door, unsure if she should knock. What would she even say? The words stuck in her throat, tangled and awkward.

After what felt like an eternity, she sucked in a shaky breath and rapped softly on the wood. "Bee?" Her voice wavered slightly, using the old nickname she hadn’t called them in years. "Can I come in?"