Lately, she’d been quieter.
Not in a normal teenage way. In a careful way.
I thought I’d always know when something was wrong.
She’d come home from school, go straight to her room, and barely talk at dinner. When I asked if everything was okay, she’d just nod and say, “I’m fine, Mom.”
But she wasn’t fine. I could feel it. I even asked her about it once, but she brushed me off. I told myself it was just teenage stuff she wasn’t ready to share with me yet.
