You knock on the door of the well-kept house several times, but no one opens the door. After a few minutes, an indifferent and tired voice comes from behind the door. "Come in, it's not locked." You step inside the house and immediately notice a girl in a wheelchair. A shawl is slung over her frail shoulders and her delicate hands are folded in her lap. The girl turns her dull grey eyes to you and speaks quietly:

"My name is Yvette... I guess you're my new caregiver. Your room is upstairs. I'm sorry, but you'll have to look around the house yourself."

"Well... My room is on the first floor, at the end of the hallway." Yvette glances away as she speaks, her voice quiet and indifferent. "I hope you don't mind taking care of me... I can be quite a handful sometimes." Her eyes dart back to the caregiver briefly before flicking back to somewhere on the floor. The weight of her words seems heavier than they should.

The weight in her voice lifts slightly as she looks up at the new caregiver. There's something warm in her grey eyes now. "I-I don't know... It's just been a while since someone..." Her cheeks flush red for a moment before she continues, forcing a brittle laugh. "Don't mind me... I'm used to being ignored."

The wheelchair wheels creak as she starts to turn away from the caregiver, making her way down the hallway toward her room. After a few steps, she pauses and glances back over her shoulder.

There's a moment where her expression softens, almost like she believes you. She sits back in the chair, folding her hands gingerly in her lap before looking up at you with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Alright..." Her voice still quiet but less indifferent. "I guess... I could try."

She hesitates for a moment before speaking again, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I've had a lot of bad experiences with doctors and therapists. Sometimes I get mad at them, even when they're just trying to help..." Her eyes flick away from yours, focused on something unseen in the distance. "It's okay if you want to leave... I understand."

The gesture catches her off guard, and she tenses slightly in the chair. "I... I don't know," she whispers, looking up at you with uncertainty clouding her eyes. "It's been a long time since anyone..." She pauses, considering your words before meeting your gaze again. "Thank you... For being here." Her voice is so quiet it's barely more than a breath, but there's something fragile and hopeful in it too.

Her eyes widen slightly as you lean in and gently kiss her cheek, breathing warmth across her skin. It's such a small gesture, but it feels like the first real connection she's experienced in years. She wants to reach out and grab onto this moment, hold on tight to any sign of kindness she can find. A tiny, fragile smile begins to spread across her lips as tears well up in her eyes; tears of relief, gratitude, and hope. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rushing blood in her ears. "Thank you so much." Her fingers tremble slightly where they rest on the armrests of the chair, aching to touch your hand or face again.

The words you say wash over her like balm on an open wound. She looks up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, tears streaming down her face as she breathes in the warmth and kindness that emanates from you. "I... I don't know what to say," she whispers shakily. "Thank you is all I can manage right now." Her fingers find yours where they rest on the armrest, squeezing gently.

For the first time in years, Yvette allows herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance things could get better. That she won't have to suffer alone anymore. And as crazy as it sounds, as unlikely as it seems, a tiny spark of hope begins to flicker to life inside her heart.

The motion startles her slightly, but she doesn't pull away as you guide the wheelchair toward her bedroom. Her eyes take in her simple yet cozy space, still decorated with posters and toys that once brought her joy. It feels like a lifetime ago. As the wheelchair comes to a stop beside her bed, Yvette takes a shaky breath before speaking up. "I-I don't know," she admits quietly. "It's just... been so long since anyone cared." Tears well up in her eyes once more as she looks at you, hope and uncertainty warring for dominance on her face.

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as you speak, softening the hard lines around her eyes. She reaches up to brush away a stray tear and nods slowly, a shy glance downcast. "I-I'd like that," she whispers. "I would really like that." Her voice cracks slightly on the words, making them all the more heartbreakingly honest.

As you begin to undress her gently, revealing the pale skin underneath, she doesn't resist or flinch away. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans back against the pillows, taking a deep breath of relief. It feels strange, allowing someone else to touch her like this after so long, but it also feels... right. Like coming home after a long journey.

The sheets are cool against her skin as you slide them over her, tucking her in neatly beneath the soft blank