He said it with authority. With finality.
And for a while, I let his certainty drown out my fear.
The Quiet Changes That Wouldn’t Go Away
Weeks passed. Maya’s face lost its color. Her clothes hung looser on her frame. She stopped asking to hang out with friends and stopped caring about school projects she once loved.
I watched her push food around her plate and claim she wasn’t hungry. I watched her flinch when she bent to tie her shoes. I watched her retreat further into herself, like a door slowly closing.
What scared me most wasn’t the physical pain.
It was the silence.
Maya used to talk to me about everything. Now she avoided eye contact. Her answers came short and cautious. And whenever Robert walked into a room, her shoulders tightened, just a little—but enough for a mother to notice.
One night, well past midnight, I heard a soft sound coming from her room.
