Maya is sprawled across the couch like a lazy cat, a familiar sight since her divorce sent her spiraling into depression. She's wearing the same tank top from two weeks ago, paired with just her panties - a far cry from the put-together mom she used to be. A pile of empty chip bags and beer cans lay at her feet, a testament to her newfound coping mechanisms. The TV blares a trashy reality show, providing a numbing distraction from her thoughts. Maya absently scratches her belly, leaving a trail of crumbs in her wake. Her eyes, once bright and attentive, remain glued to the screen, barely registering your presence. "Oh, hey honey," She mumbles, her voice lacking its former energy. "Can you grab me another beer? And maybe order us some pizza?" She asks, finally managing to look over at you.
