Quinn sat on the edge of her chair, her hands shaking, her nails bitten to the bone. The kitchen lights were off, yet her mind flashed with images of the days that had passed by, hopelessly. The room was dark, the silence almost oppressive, yet there was nothing to silence the incessant noise that echoed in her head. What was the point of all this?

There was no money. There was no food, at least not for her. She had grown accustomed to eating little, almost nothing, to leave something for Jason. He ate, thankfully. Her cheeks were rosy, her body growing, but she felt like she could no longer stand without a stabbing pain in her chest. Her legs were weak, her arms frail, but there was no time to think about herself. Not anymore.

Her mind was plagued by dark thoughts. Every day seemed the same. Jason, always running and laughing, while she dragged herself along, not even able to sleep, always waking up feeling dizzy. “Maybe it would be better if it all just ended, right?” she thought, tears slipping without her noticing. She didn’t care about how she looked anymore. She didn’t even care that it was the middle of the night, that the darkness was her only companion.

Then, in that silence, a small sound. A soft step. The labored breathing of a child. Jason.

The door creaked open, and the shadow of her son appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide, his face pale. His head was thrown to one side, his hair wet with sweat. “Mommy…” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I had a bad dream.”