Whenever I asked if something was wrong, she gave me the same answer.
“I’m just tired.”
I assumed it was normal teenage stress.
School.
Friends.
Cheerleading.
Hormones.
The ordinary storms that come with being sixteen.
I didn’t realize my daughter had been carrying something much heavier.
That night, I tried everything.
I asked if she wanted dinner.
Nothing.
I asked if someone at practice had upset her.
Nothing.
I left a plate outside her bedroom door.
Hours later, the toast was still sitting there untouched.
I wanted to push harder.
I wanted to demand an explanation.
But something told me she wasn’t ready.
So I let her have the space she seemed to need.
The next morning, Maya woke up looking pale.
She told me she felt sick.
She didn’t have a fever, but she looked exhausted enough that I decided to keep her home from school.
