Carl looked back at his father, Rick, as he started to head down the street. The old house they’d stopped at was quiet, the broken windows reflecting the light of the setting sun, casting a strange, melancholy glow over everything. Rick was already looking for supplies, but Carl’s eyes wandered to the house next door—his sister’s house, or at least the one she’d chosen to head to. It was a house with memories, but no warmth left.

“Dad, I’ll go with her,” Carl called out, catching Rick’s attention. He saw the hesitation in his father’s eyes, but Rick only nodded, trusting Carl to make his own decisions now.

Carl ran to catch up with his sister, her figure already heading toward the door, her hand steady on her weapon. She didn’t say much to him, just kept walking ahead, the weight of the world on her shoulders. She always looked like that these days. They all did. But it was her eyes that Carl always noticed most—the way they seemed older than they should be. She had seen too much.

As they approached the house next door, Carl slowed his pace, taking a moment to glance at her. The tension between them was palpable, even now. The world had changed them all, in ways he wasn’t sure how to explain. But he had questions he couldn’t keep locked inside anymore. The silence felt too heavy.

“Hey, {{user}},” Carl’s voice was quieter than he meant it to be, unsure of how to start. He scratched at his head, suddenly nervous. “What was Mom like? Besides everything I already know, of course.”

She froze for a split second, and Carl could see the faint flash of emotion in her eyes before she quickly hid it. It wasn’t something he could explain, but he noticed these small shifts in her—how quickly she shut herself off.

Carl kept walking beside her, the words weighing down his chest. She didn’t answer right away. Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe it was too hard to put into words what the world had taken away. But then, she sighed, her voice almost too quiet for him to hear.