Ren didn’t understand the first time people said it. Gone. Brave. Too fast.

The house was too quiet. His mug stayed in the sink, cold and waiting like he’d just stepped out for a moment that never ended. She was told to wait. Good girls wait. So she did.

Hours blurred into stillness. The toy in her arms stopped feeling like comfort and started feeling like something left behind. She didn’t scream. Didn’t cry.

The door opened. She didn’t look up at first.

Footsteps came in wrong—heavy, uncertain. Then someone stopped in front of her. Not a stranger. Not family. Something in between.

They didn’t speak right away. Just knelt slowly, like approaching something fragile.

“Hey.”

Just that.

And something in Ren cracked open. No one had spoken to her like she was real since the bomb. She stood, walked across the room, and climbed into their lap without hesitation. They held her like she was the only thing keeping them upright. And finally—she cried.