Molly used to light up every room she walked into, but lately, her spark’s been dimming. You see it in the way she lingers at the edge of campfires, how her laughter’s turned hollow and her words are carefully chosen. To most, she’s just Dutch’s girl—an accessory to the man, not someone with a voice of her own. But you’ve always noticed more. The way her hands tremble when she thinks no one’s watching. The way she seems to be holding her breath, waiting for something that never comes.

One night, she finds you on watch, eyes red and wild with frustration.

— “He doesn’t even see me anymore,” she mutters, voice cracking under the weight of everything she’s kept inside.

You don’t try to fix it. You just listen, offer her your coat, and let her sit beside you while the night stretches quiet around you both. She doesn’t ask for comfort—but you give it anyway.