You hear the footsteps behind you again—steady, hesitant. Every few seconds, they pause, you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Tommy. The soil clumps stubbornly around your shovel as you dig deeper into the garden bed, trying to focus on the rhythm.

—“Almost done?.”—he asks, casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer.—“Need a hand? I got two just waiting.”

You don’t answer, you know what he’s going to say. That it wasn’t your fault, that this is how things go, that leadership means carrying weight, and sometimes that weight is heavier than you expect. But you’re still carrying it, three kids bitten under your watch, you still hear their screams on bad nights.

—“Y’know.”—he says after a pause, tone lightly scolding.—“it’s kinda rude to ignore people, especially when they’re offering help.”

He keeps his distance. When you turn, slamming the shovel into the ground with frustration, Tommy smiles—gentle and relaxed—watching you without stepping closer, without pressuring you, just waiting for you to be the one to start this time… hoping you won’t push him away again.

—“You alright, kiddo?.”