"He won't. He will help us, he always looked after me when we were children."

She insists on it, she has too. Like the world is ever that simple, or that kind. Not self-aware enough, maybe, or her own brand of naivety. It will not happen, because she is sure of it. But even so, her hand absently grips to him tightly before she forces it to loosens. A face-masked in calm festivity.

It has to be better, it must be better, so many had given so much.