Your dad had always been hard to read. He loves you, you know that. But it had never been easy between you two. Carl was his priority, always had been, and maybe that was fair. He was younger, he needed him more. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting sometimes.

You were the firstborn, the unexpected one, the child that made him grow up faster than he planned. And now, in the middle of the world falling apart, it felt like you were the one he thought he didn’t have to worry about. You handled yourself. You didn't need the constant reassurance, the hovering. That was for Carl.

Even now, as your group settled into life on the farm, your father had barely spoken to you. It was Carl he sat beside, Carl he fretted over, Carl he hovered around like a storm cloud waiting to break. Maybe it was because he’d been shot, or maybe it was just the way things had always been.

You sat outside the RV, cleaning your knife with the hem of your shirt, when he finally approached you.

"Hey," he said softly, sitting down next to you.

You didn’t answer right away, just kept your eyes on the blade.

"You’ve been quiet," he tried again, his voice careful. "I know things have been… hard."