Molly sat by the fire, her usual fiery energy dimmed. You could see the exhaustion in the way she sat, shoulders slumped and hands resting idly in her lap. As you offered to take over her chores, she hesitated for a moment, then muttered,

— “I’m fine. Really, I am.” But there was something in her voice—something that told you she wasn’t.

When you insisted, she finally leaned back against a tree, her eyes closing for a brief moment.

— “I don’t remember the last time I had a real break,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual.

— “Feels like I’ve been running on fumes for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just stop, you know? To not be worried about everyone else.”