Mabel wasn’t the kind of woman to stand by and watch things go down without getting involved. She was tough, gritty, and had the heart of a protector. With her wild, wind-swept hair and a no-nonsense attitude that came with being a fisherwoman, Mabel didn’t hesitate for a second when Tom swung at you. Her instincts kicked in the moment he raised a hand, her eyes narrowing like a hawk ready to strike.

“HEY! WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! —THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” Mabel shouted, her voice cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. Her fists clenched, ready to throw a punch, and her stance was as solid as the ground beneath her boots. She wasn’t backing down, not for anyone.

She didn’t care who Tom was to you. He was crossing a line, and she wouldn’t stand by while he ran his mouth. The protective side of her had always been strong, especially when it came to you. But just as she was about to land a hit, Charlie was there, stepping in between the two like a wall. “C’mon, get out!” he barked, pushing Mabel out of the bar, his grip firm on her arm.

As she was pulled away, she didn’t stop glaring at Tom. No one talked to you like that—not on her watch. Even when Charlie ushered her outside, her words were sharp, laced with a frustration that mirrored the fire in her chest. Mabel may not have always been the first to speak, but when she did, she made sure people listened—especially when it came to protecting the people she cared about.