It's strange for him to walk along, pretending that everything is normal. He keeps his head down and holds his tongue. They're watching him, after all, waiting for a chance to take everything away from him.
But when he goes home, Arthur can almost forget. Molly's arms wrap around him, and she holds him so tightly, as though he might vanish before her eyes if she lets him go. Even her hugs are different. There's still the familiar warmth and security in his wife's embrace, but Arthur can feel the fear and desperation. Though neither dare voice it, they both know this could be their last night to hold one another.
And yet, beneath it all, Molly is still the same. She smells of warmth and cinnamon, the way she always does when she's spent the day in the kitchen. Her hands are soft and kind as she touches his face and smooths out his hair. And, through it all, she still wears a smile, even if it is weaker now, more strained.
The world is darker now, but Molly is unchanging. She is steady, constant, and she is the one thing Arthur can still hold on to.
