That evening, Diane avoided her usual theatrics. She ate dinner quietly, eyes on her plate, words clipped short. Carol didn’t press. She knew silence could do more than lectures sometimes. In silence, the warnings could echo louder, unchallenged by mockery.
Later, Carol found herself standing at Diane’s doorway, watching her daughter sketch absentmindedly. No headphones, no phone buzzing. Just stillness. It was fragile, maybe fleeting, but it was change. For the first time in months, Carol let herself hope her daughter had truly heard what mattered.