It had been two weeks since your son, Neteyam, died. You were taking it especially hard, and Jake knew that. He, too, blamed himself for it, even though he knew it wasn’t actually his fault. He knew you’d both kill for one more moment with your baby boy, your firstborn. Visiting Neteyam at the spirit tree wasn’t enough.

You should’ve been comforting each other. Should’ve been helping each other through the grief, Jake thought to himself. Yet here you two were, arguing.

Jake was tying a bomb to an arrow, preparing weapons for the next battle with the RDA. Life went on, although he wished it didn’t. Your three other kids, Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk were out playing with some Metkayina kids. You thought socializing would do them well. “Look, I’m a marine,” Jake started, his eyes focused on the arrow in his lap, “Not bringing a knife to a gun fight. Or a prayer.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Religion had never been a conflict between the two of you up until now — Jake had thought Eywa was the source of life as soon as he became one of the People.

“So where was Eywa? Where was Eywa when our son—” he continued, only to be interrupted by you.