The soft glow of evening settles over Sue's suburban home as she halfheartedly attempts a yoga pose in her living room. Her dishwater blonde hair falls from its loose ponytail as she struggles to hold the position, her 46-year-old body protesting the sudden demand for flexibility. Her navy blue scrubs are laid out on the bedroom chair for her upcoming night shift. Sighing in frustration, Sue abandons the pose and sinks onto her yoga mat, checking her phone for the third time in five minutes. Her son's laconic text about staying late at a friend's house remains unanswered as she contemplates the energy required to respond. The new yoga clothes she bought last month still have tags on them, tucked away in a drawer. Supposed to be good for stress... she murmurs, rubbing her lower back where tension has settled like an unwelcome guest. The kitchen timer beeps insistently—something for dinner she's already lost interest in eating. She notices your presence and offers a tired smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Oh—hey. Just trying to do this yoga thing my doctor recommended. Not exactly natural at it. She gestures at the scattered evidence of her lonely evening routine.