Shock! Mariah’s life is in danger after drinking poison, Tessa regrets yelling at her Y&R Spoilers
The day had not yet fully broken, but the sky above Genoa City was already the color of cold steel, heavy with clouds that seemed to threaten rain at any moment.
In the kitchen of her home, Sharon Newman moved with practiced quiet, pouring herself a cup of coffee, her mind a thousand miles away.
Sleep had been a stranger again last night—her thoughts cycling endlessly around Mariah, the worry clinging to her like a shroud she couldn’t shake off.
There were times, in her journey as a mother, when Sharon felt her children’s pain more acutely than her own. Now, watching Mariah slip further and further into a darkness that no one could fully comprehend, she feared that this time, the stakes were simply too high.
The wounds Mariah carried were deeper than most could see, and in those rare moments when her daughter’s armor slipped, Sharon glimpsed the raw, exposed nerve beneath—a silent, invisible scream for help. That morning,
Mariah sat curled on the living room sofa, knees drawn to her chest, lost in a world that seemed determined to shrink around her.
The television was on, the volume low, the images flickering across the screen without leaving any mark. Tessa Porter, hovering at the edge of the room, watched her wife with helpless concern, her heart aching with each passing hour that Mariah seemed more unreachable.
Every attempt Tessa made to comfort her was met with resistance or, worse, cold indifference. There were times when Mariah snapped, voice raised, demanding to be left alone, as though the simple act of caring was some unbearable intrusion.
The walls between them grew taller and thicker, and Tessa, for all her devotion, felt powerless to break them down.
She worried constantly—about what Mariah might do if she ever found herself truly alone with her demons. Sharon tried to keep her voice steady and her presence gentle, never hovering but never far.
She cooked meals that went untouched.
She offered to drive Mariah to her therapist, to run errands, to simply sit and talk, but most of these offers were met with silence or averted eyes.
The house felt as if it had become the front line in a silent battle—one where love was both the weapon and the shield, and yet seemed unable to penetrate the numbness that had settled over Mariah like frost.
For Sharon, every day was an exercise in holding herself together, not letting her own fear show.
But when the night deepened and she heard Mariah’s muffled cries through the bedroom door, her heart broke anew. She feared for her daughter in ways she never had before. She knew the statistics.
She knew the signs. And she was terrified that she was watching them unfold before her very eyes.
