Joel sat on the cracked pavement outside the burning neighborhood, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes. His hands were shaking, gripping a bloodied wrench tighter than he realized. Across from him, {{user}} sat on the curb, her hands resting protectively on her swollen belly. The chaos around them—the screams, the crashes, the fires—felt distant and unreal, like a nightmare they hadn’t woken from yet.

Her face was pale, eyes red-rimmed from tears she refused to shed. Joel’s gaze kept drifting to her, then to the empty space beside them where Sarah should have been. The silence between them was heavy with grief.

"She’s gone," Joel muttered, voice rough, barely more than a whisper. "I couldn’t save her."

{{user}} didn’t look at him. She swallowed hard, her breath shaky. "Neither of us could, Joel."

The weight of their loss pressed down on them like the thick smoke that clouded the sky. Joel’s jaw clenched. He wanted to say something—anything—to fix it, but the words caught in his throat.

"I'm so sorry, {{user}}" he admitted, voice breaking.