Arthur leaned back on the sofa, letting himself sink into the cushions. The house felt peaceful and warm; he knew it was because of Alice’s quiet presence.

He let out a slow, steady breath, closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the tension inside him loosened.

The calm around him wrapped itself gently over his thoughts, and before he realized it, sleep began to pull him under.

Once again, he found himself in a dream. He saw the back of a woman staring at the sky, her white hair, much like Alice’s, danced gently in the wind.

The air was cold, and he could feel a strange pull in his chest.

He wanted to walk toward her, but his body froze. He tried to speak, but no sound came out. He was petrified, unable to move or call out to her.

All he could do was stand there and watch.

Suddenly, the woman spoke, turning to face him.

His eyes grew wide because her face was blurred, and her voice was muffled, as though it came from far away.

He frowned, desperate to know who this mysterious figure was who kept appearing in his dreams.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” the woman exclaimed, her voice tight with worry.

This time, her words were clear, and he heard every single one.

He awoke with a quiet gasp as morning light filtered in, drawing soft shapes over the wooden ceiling.

Why did that woman keep showing up in my dreams?

He muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, Alice appeared in front of him. “Arthur, are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. By the way, where did you go earlier?” he asked.

She chuckled softly. “I was invited to be a judge for a cooking contest in the market,” she said proudly.

He smiled faintly, noting the happiness in her expression.

“Oh, that’s great. Who won the contest?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

She shook her head. “The event hasn’t started yet. It’s later today. Do you want to come and watch?” she asked, her tone inviting yet straightforward.

“Sure.” he replied.

Alice smiled brightly and turned toward the kitchen.

“Nice! I’m going to cook lunch now. After we finish eating, let’s go to the market together.”

Arthur nodded, watching as she walked away.

The oil crackled in the small, dimly lit kitchen. A young girl, no older than eleven or twelve, stood over the stove, her motions slow and deliberate.

Her face was drained of color, eyes flat and empty like a fish staring from behind glass. She kept biting her lip, over and over, a nervous habit she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Once the food was ready, she carefully placed a small portion onto a plate. After hesitating for a moment, she cut the portion in half and placed one piece onto another plate.

Her shoulders sagged as she let out a heavy sigh, as though trying to steady the storm swirling quietly inside her.

Holding the plates, she walked toward a dark room at the end of the hall, each step slower than the last, as if the shadows ahead were pulling her in.

The room was nearly pitch black, the faint glow from the hallway casting just enough light to sketch the edges of the furniture.

She squinted, straining to make out shapes that seemed to shift in the shadows.

Taking a shaky breath, she knelt on the floor beside the bed, her hands trembling slightly as if the weight of the quiet room pressed down on her.

“Mama, are you hungry? The food’s ready. Please eat something,” she said softly, holding out one of the plates.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a figure on the bed stirred, slowly sitting up.

The girl could feel the tension in the air growing heavier.

Without warning, the woman’s voice tore through the silence like a jagged blade.

“Where is your father?!” she screamed, every word trembling with raw, unbearable anguish.

“He said he would come back!”  every word filled with raw, unbearable pain.

“It’s been a year! All the other soldiers have returned to their families… but where… is he?!” Her words shook the room, rattling off the walls like echoes of a grief too heavy to hold.

The girl bit her lip harder, her hands slightly shaking as she clutched the plate.

Her mother’s frustration weighed down on her like a relentless magnet, pressing so heavily she could barely contain.

“Mama, please...” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. She sat on the edge of the bed and gently patted her mother’s back.

“You need to eat… even just a little.”

But before she could hand the plate, her mother’s elbow struck her face with brutal force, sending her tumbling to the floor.

The plate clattered to the ground, sending food spilling in every direction.

“You don’t understand a thing, Lily!” She smashed her hand in the bed.

“You don’t understand the pain I’ve carried… because you’re still a brat!” her mother roared, her voice filled with despair and fury.

Lily touched her lip, wincing as the blood trickled down. Her hands curled into tight fists, but she said nothing.

Quietly, she began gathering the shattered plate and scattered food from the floor, each movement heavy with silent resignation.

“Get out!” her mother bellowed, collapsing back onto the bed, her sobs muffled by the darkness.

Lily rose slowly, each movement heavy with bitterness and heartbreak. She knew there was no reaching her mother, not like this.

No words of hers could pierce the wall of grief and anger.

As she stepped toward the door, her voice barely carried above a whisper.

“How much suffering do you want me to endure, Mama?”

The question lingered in the air as she walked away, shoulders quivering with the weight of all she could not say.

Alice and Arthur finished eating lunch and were already on their way to the market.

Arthur looked around, his expression intrigued by the sudden event in the market that even Alice was participating in.

“By the way, who’s the person who started the cooking contest?” he asked, his curiosity evident in his face.

“I think it was the mayor.” Alice replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“He noticed there weren’t any extra activities here, which made the place kinda boring.”

“Who told you that?” Arthur asked immediately, meeting her gaze.

“It was Jean. Why?” she answered, tilting her head slightly.

“If the intel is coming from Jean, I suppose it’s true,” he said straightforwardly.

Alice smiled. “You really trust Jean’s gossip.” She paused and looked ahead.

“Did you know she accepted Matthew’s proposal?”

“Yes, I’ve heard it from Matthew himself. He’s a bit annoying, though,” Arthur replied with a faint sigh.

Alice’s eyebrows raised, her curiosity piqued. “Why?”

Arthur hesitated, searching for the right words.

“There was never a time he wasn’t smiling,” he said finally. “Through every conversation… that grin never left his face.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Arthur’s own lips, as if recalling the warmth behind that endless grin.

“But I guess I’m happy for him.”

As their conversation unfolded, the lively hum of the market swelled around them.

Vendors shouting, children laughing, and the clatter of carts weaving through the crowd.

Arthur’s gaze wandered to the villagers bustling about, some carrying baskets, others laughing in groups.

Ahead, a young girl caught his eye.

She was struggling under the weight of a large basket filled to the brim with laundry.

Her small frame wobbled slightly with each step, and her face was pale under the strain.

“Arthur, look at her,” Alice said softly, noticing the same girl.

Before either of them could react, the girl stumbled. The basket tilted, and clothes spilled onto the ground.

She froze for a moment, as if deciding whether to pick them up or simply give up, but then her knees buckled.

“Alice—” Arthur began, but she was already rushing toward the girl.

Alice knelt beside her, gently cradling the young girl in her arms.

“H-Hey… a-are you alright?!” she asked repeatedly, her voice filled with worry, but there was no response.

Arthur placed a reassuring hand on Alice’s shoulder.

“Calm down. Let’s take her to the clinic,” he said firmly.

Without waiting for a reply, he scooped the girl into his arms and began running toward the clinic.

Alice, holding the basket of laundry, followed close behind, her heart racing.