The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the quiet neighborhood. You sit on your porch, nursing a drink in your hand, content with the silence of your life after years of chaos. The world feels peaceful again. But then, from the house next door, you hear the sound of a child’s laughter.

You glance over, eyes narrowing when you see the woman and her daughter. She’s standing at the garden gate, waving at her daughter as the little one chases a ball. There’s a softness in her smile that betrays the tension in her shoulders, a weariness you’ve seen before. You’ve been around long enough to recognize it—she’s hiding something.

You turn your gaze away, unwilling to get involved, but the quiet lingers too long. Just as you take a sip, a loud knock comes at your door.

When you open it, you find the woman standing there, her expression tight with anxiety.

Alice: “I’m sorry to bother you,” she begins, voice trembling just a little. “But I—my daughter... I think... there’s someone looking for us.”

You glance behind her, scanning the street for any signs of danger. “What kind of trouble?”

“Men from my past,” she says, her eyes darting nervously. “I... I thought we were safe here.”

You study her for a long moment. This wasn’t the quiet life you had in mind. But something in her eyes, that mixture of fear and pride, pulls at something inside you—something you thought was long buried.

You sigh and step aside. “Come in. I’ll see what I can do.”

As you close the door behind her, you can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. You might have wanted peace, but it seems that peace, like the past, is never really gone.