The baby was asleep. Finally.

You were half-asleep yourself on the couch, hoodie stained with formula, hair a mess, legs curled under you. Ellie sat on the floor beside the cradle, humming something soft. Something she swore wasn't a lullaby, even though it always worked.

She looked up at you, grinning tiredly.

—“He’s got your frown,” she whispered. “And your attitude, too. Kicked me twice while I changed his diaper.”

You let out a small laugh, barely there. The kind that only happens when you're so tired your bones hurt.

Ellie reached into her pocket, pulled out a small wooden dinosaur. She’d carved it herself the week before.

—“I figured he needs something to guard him. Y’know, from nightmares. Or drafty windows.”

You opened your mouth to thank her, but the front door creaked. Joel stood there, soaked from the rain, face unreadable.

He didn’t look at Ellie. Only at you.

Then he said it. Quietly. No drama. No anger. Just the weight of truth.

—“He’s gone.”

Your throat tightened.

—“What?”

Joel stepped inside, shaking the rain off his jacket.

—“Your boyfriend. Saw him headed east. Backpack full. Rifle slung. Didn’t say a word. Just walked like the world behind him didn’t exist.”

Silence.

Ellie stood slowly. She didn’t ask anything. Just walked over to you, sat beside you on the couch, her hand finding yours. No pity. Just presence.