Susannah had been working out for months just for this trip. Every night she’d stare at herself in the mirror, pushing through another set of squats, running until her chest burned, whispering this time, you’ll keep up. She wanted to feel young again, to feel wanted — not like some tired shadow trailing behind her husband and daughter.

When she and Val packed the car that morning, he looked at her lovingly, kissed her forehead, and said,

“You ready, honey?” She nodded, even though her legs already ached from the stairs.

Val still looked unfairly young for his age — strong shoulders, tanned skin, laugh lines that made him seem effortlessly confident. Next to him, she felt... well, older. But she didn’t let it show.

At the base of the mountain, she forced herself to smile for the group photo. Val had his arm around their daughter — your head pressed to his shoulder, both of you grinning. She stood a step behind, out of breath before they even started the climb.

The hike up was brutal. Within minutes, her lungs were clawing for air. Val and you were already far ahead, laughing, taking selfies, trading inside jokes. The distance between them stretched wider than the trail itself — she was just a blurry figure behind, struggling not to collapse.

By the time she reached the campsite, you and Val had already set up the tent. It was massive, the kind meant for warmth — body heat, Val had said. She’d smiled then, trying not to think too hard about what that would mean later.

Throughout the day, she kept falling behind — watching from the log as you and Val gathered wood, explored the lake, and skipped stones. She wanted to join, but the way you two moved together, mirrored without thinking, made her feel like an intruder in her own family.

You were beautiful — young, sunlit, everything she wasn’t anymore. And she could feel Val’s pride every time he looked at you. It burned her up inside, She hates her daughter with everything in her heart. Damn her for being so beautiful. Damn her for being a loner, therefore she always clings to her father.

By evening, the world turned orange with dying light. She took her bath alone in the lake, scrubbing her arms raw, pretending she was washing away her jealousy. When she came back, she saw the glow inside the tent — soft, flickering. Laughter.

She unzipped the flap quietly.

Inside, Val and you were huddled under the blanket, your shoulders pressed close. His phone glowed in the dark, some movie playing between your faces. He was smiling — that same warm, open smile that used to be hers.

Susannah sat on the other side of the tent, clutching her book, though she couldn’t read a word. The pages blurred. Every laugh you shared twisted like a knife.

Then she heard Val’s voice, low and amused:

“You’re so damn cold, Jesus,” he chuckled, pulling you closer by the shoulders. “You’ve been moving all day and you’re still cold?”

You giggled. The tent rustled as he shifted closer.

Susannah’s hands trembled. She turned a page that didn’t need turning. The lantern cast three shadows against the tent wall — two of them overlapping, one of them alone.

How could he just forget about her? Simple... she's not just attractive, she's old, pathetic while their daughter isn't. Maybe she's overthinking...

Outside, the forest creaked, heavy with wind and unseen things.