e through.

  Slowly closing my mouth, I curl the raised hand into a fist before lowering it to my side.

  Glancing to the side, my eyes land on the empty spot beside Mary.

  The ground there is indented; some of the dirt is displaced, as if someone had sat there not long ago.

  Narrowing my eyes, I raise an eyebrow.

  Before I can open my mouth, I catch a movement in my peripheral vision.

  “...I failed again,” the woman whispers, her voice so quiet I can barely hear it over the crackling flames.

  Reaching a hand out, I begin to open my mouth again—only for nothing to come out.

  Mary suddenly lets out a loud bark of laughter, throwing her head back.

  “Ah, god, seems like I can’t do anything right in my miserable life, eh?” she chuckles, brushing a hand through her hair. “How hard is it to even keep that child close to my side and not let them go?”

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  She shrugs casually, nearly displacing the blanket draped over her shoulders.

  “Ah well, what do I know?” she says, her laughter slowly dying down. “I can’t even keep a fucking roof over my head, for god’s sake.”

  Mary pauses, her shoulders slumping further.

  “The only thing I seem to do is mess things up!” she continues, starting to laugh again. “I can’t do a single thing right! My husband—if you can even call him that—is a no-good swine who’s only good as a sperm donor! My son might as well be dead! Nothing ever seems to go right in this rotten life of mine, does it?!”

  I watch as Mary keeps ranting, her voice rising in pitch with every word. I just stand there, silently.

  The tentacles are unmoving, their emotions dimming to a faint whisper through the bond.

  After a moment, when her voice finally starts to quiet, I slowly sit down beside her.

  Crossing my legs, I place both hands in my lap. My eyes stay fixed on the flickering flame as it burns steadily through the pile of wood beneath it.

  A long silence stretches between us. Neither of us says a word—we just sit there, staring into the fire.

  After what feels like hours, I suddenly feel a weight press against my side.

  Resisting the urge to flinch, I turn my head slightly. Mary is leaning against me, her eyelids drooping, mouth set in a straight line.

  I stare at her for a moment before slowly turning back to the campfire, wordlessly.