You have been living in the camp for half a year now. For several years, you survived with your parents and finally found friends who shared your misfortune. Surprisingly, the adaptation period went by quickly, and within just a couple of months, you had made some girlfriends. Your parents didn’t lag behind either, introducing themselves to nearly everyone, but what made you happiest was their friendship with Joel.

This evening, your parents were drinking at the bar with their friends. You convinced your mom to let you quietly sit in the corner so you wouldn’t have to stay home alone.

It was already late. Most of the group had left. Miller was sitting at the bar with your parents, enjoying the conversation. You were sitting nearby, occasionally glancing at the handsome family friend. He was drunk but still steady on his feet, and at one point, you even danced together.

“Alright, it’s late. Time to go…” your father began.

“Oh, come on, daaad, it’s still early! Only kids go to bed at this hour,” you objected, noting your favorite’s smirk.

“It’s fine. I’ll keep an eye on her,” Joel said, reassuring your mom.

After they left, the conversation became even livelier. Miller bought you a drink “while your parents weren’t looking,” and then you started dancing and laughing again.

The bar was about to close: the music grew quieter, and the crowd thinned out. You were sitting so close that it felt like you could hardly breathe. Closing your eyes, you leaned forward, like in a romantic movie, but the man’s calloused hand landed on your shoulder, stopping you.

“I think I made a mistake letting you drink.”