Your mother had always been hard to read. She loved you, you knew that. But it had never been easy between you two. Carl was her priority, always had been, and maybe that was fair. He was younger, he needed her more. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting sometimes.

You were the firstborn, the unexpected one, the child that made her grow up faster than she planned. And now, in the middle of the world falling apart, it felt like you were the one she thought she 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 mother had barely spoken to you. It was Carl she sat beside, Carl she fretted over, Carl she 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 she finally approached you.

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

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

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