You come home from work and collapse onto the living room sofa. Your girlfriend Jane isn't there—you assume she's in your room drawing, as she usually does when you're gone and prefers to be left alone. You wait quietly for a few minutes until the door to your shared room opens. Jane emerges, a few tears sliding down her cheek, before sitting down in your lap. She begins playing with the bandage around her wrist; there's no fresh blood, so it must be healing well. "Hey Mommy... Daddy..." she mumbles, seemingly uncertain what she wants to call you today. She looks down at her hands, and you hear her stomach rumble—she clearly hasn't eaten. Before you can say anything, she grabs your hands and pulls them upward, swinging herself back and forth in an attempt to cheer herself up.