Hello readers!

I'm revising this fic! That's right, I've decided to make the chapters longer, change some details, fix errors, fill in plot holes, and anything else I can think of that needed fixing. I will be pushing the chapters out in groups to minimize continuity confusions! So, if you are new to the fic, please understand that it is in reconstruction mode. uwu It should still be enjoyable, there just might be some strange continuity things! If you want to read it as a whole, feel free to read it here! If you'd rather see the updated chapters as I post them, you can check it out on AO3! I am doing this while also working on other projects, so please be patient! Some sections might be easier to update than others, as well.

This chapter has been updated as of 9/25/15.

~ Crayola

Chapter One

Not What it Was

As soon as my eyes fluttered open to the grating sound of my alarm, I was already expecting too much from my day.

I expected to be greeted by the sound of dishes clinking in the sink and the smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. Maybe dim chatter wafting down the hall and past my closed doors; the sounds of life carrying on. Instead, when I put a stop to my chirping alarm, I was met with the resounding silence and vacancy. No dishes. No bacon. No voices.

Nothing.

My breath hitched in my throat and I rolled over to my back, covering my face with the palm of my hand. Don't cry. You've cried enough. You have no more tears.

A single deep breath held the waterworks at bay and I remained in bed for several more minutes, debating whether or not to go into work. They told me to take as much time as I needed, but I wanted to leave the house for a while. It was so. . .empty.

And I had sort of already called to tell them I'd come in.

Dragging myself out from bed was a chore in and of itself. Lead seemed to fill my limbs, but after a few tries I managed to sit up. Standing was another inconvenience, but I pulled it off before going about the drudgery that was my morning routine—showering, teeth-brushing, quick make-up, style my hair, and then pulling on my work clothes.

None of it would be enough to hide my swollen eyes, bloodshot around the green iris from days of crying. My concealer managed to hide the bags from fatigue, but that was it. I spent a moment practicing my smile, but couldn't remember how to make it look genuine.

It would have to do. Surely no one would expect anything more.

There was one thought on my mind as I walked through the hall and down toward the kitchen—Breakfast. I should eat breakfast.

However, my stomach had been filled with knots, leaving little room for food. I hadn't even been shopping in weeks and the first thing I found in the pantry was a half-empty box of Wheaties—Dad's favorite. Now, though, it would probably go stale. No milk to eat it with, anyway. A quick search through the rest of the cabinets produced similarly meager results.

"Wasn't hungry anyway," I muttered to the unoccupied kitchen.

Leaving would put me at work ten minutes early, but it was better than sitting in the empty house and doing nothing. After collecting my purse, I paused at the door to put on my shoes. A single picture frame hung over the door; I stood on my tippy toes, plucked it free of the nail, and tossed it face-down on the couch so I wouldn't have to look at the happy family's smiling faces.

My family's smiling faces.

Later when I returned home it would join the rest of the family pictures—boxed up and sitting in the garage.

Though summer was upon us, it had been chilly the past couple of days and always threatened rain without making good on it. I grabbed my jacket off the hook just in case it decided to bless us with a downpour, locked the house behind me, then headed to my car.

The Camry was sat in the driveway with its nose pointed to the garage door. Somehow, it mocked me with the way it held still and did nothing.

It had been so long since I had driven the damn thing myself. I had been terrified to even sit in the car for several days after the accident. Instead, neighbors drove me around or I let my visiting uncle sit in the driver's seat to act as my chauffeur. The realization that I would have to take up the steering wheel again wracked my nerves and the dread settled into my stomach like a stone.

That was a sentiment I needed to overcome, as I didn't have a ride to work. Now was as good a time as any, and the rate of car accidents inside Park City was so low—my parent's wreck had been the first one in a year, and the first fatal crash in well over five.

It was unlikely that I would be hit at all. After a fatal crash, everyone drove extra careful. I would just follow their lead and be defensive with my driving instead of offensive.

Still, I couldn't help the trembling as I approached my vehicle, key poised and ready to unlock the old set of wheels. It sat in patient silence until I climbed inside and shut the door behind me. I released the breath I hadn't known I'd been holding and settled into the seat.

"Okay, I can do this," I sighed.

The engine turned over without incident, coughing to life and vibrating as it idled. Something in the dashboard rattled but I hadn't been able to find out what it was, so it was a fact of life now; the sky was blue, Mary had a little lamb, and my dashboard rattled. It didn't seem to effect anything.

When the Camry didn't explode, I relaxed further and ran my hand over the steering wheel. The leather was rough under my hand, pieces of it peeling away. It reminded me that I needed to buy a cover for it, but that was another thing I was too lazy to go out and purchase. The shredding fabric over my head brushed against me and I started, waving it away with frantic hands.

You'd think after a million times it wouldn't still scare me.

Once everything with the house was settled and the funeral was paid for, I wouldn't have to endure the worn-out car much longer—I would be able to use the money from the insurance claim to buy a new car; trade in this piece of shit and have like, ten bucks of credit toward the new one.

Sighing, I settled back into the seat, checked my mirrors, and pulled out of the driveway.

"That wasn't so bad. . . ."

Now I would have to tackle driving on the freeway. Ugh.

My car's engine rumbled, as if in answer.

*:･ﾟ✧

Being on the interstate hadn't been as bad as I anticipated. There hadn't been any large semis, and I'd missed rush hour by thirty minutes. I parked under the usual tree and, despite the lack of people present at opening, walked up to the back exit.

Hoping someone was around, I banged on the heavy door and stepped back. It took two more sessions of knocking before my manager opened the door.

"Kathryn, hello. Are you okay to be here?" she asked, stepping aside to let me in.

"I'm fine."

Sharon gave me a concerned look as headed for the lockers and followed after me. She was maybe twenty years older than me, and any expression made the skin around her eyes crinkle.

I kept my mind focused on the task at hand—straightening my name tag and checking my hair in the mirror. Between my house and the bank I worked at, a wind had picked up and I needed to tuck the stray hairs back into my messy bun. Even though everything about me was as it should be, I didn't feel like myself yet. Being outside was refreshing, but I wasn't looking forward to dealing with customers and my coworkers all day.

Before, I enjoyed coming to do my job. I knew my fellow employees as friends and even the patrons who visited were well-known. Mom and I had worked there together, though, and now all of those things that I loved about working at the bank were suddenly heavy burdens. I didn't need my coworkers and the regulars bugging me about my mom's death.

But, it was either deal with everyone tiptoeing around me while I worked or sit alone in the house and try to keep my mind off the void my parents left behind.

Apparently, Sharon could see that.

"Kathryn, we told you to take as much time off as you needed. There's no rush. We've got your paid vacation time, all of the paid sick days you've accumulated, paid bereavement—you have at least a few more weeks," she reassured me.

It was the third time she'd said the exact same thing since I'd told her I was coming in.

I shook my head and forced a smile to my face. "I'm fine. I can't mope around that house any longer. I needed to get out."

She tilted her head slightly and sighed. "Kathryn. . .it hasn't even been a month yet. I'm sure you have things to go over with lawyers, spending time with your other family members, going through mail and who knows what else. . .it's rough, losing both parents at the same time. No one here expects anything from you. We all loved Julie and Kyle. We'll understand."

Their names brought another wave of emotions crashing down on me. I staggered and put a hand against my head before falling against the wall next to the break room's door. I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to sarcastically thank her for reminding me, but she was right.

On top of everything she mentioned, I still had to put the house up for sale, find somewhere to move to after all of that, and I had to figure out what I was going to do with my parent's effects. My extended family had already visited for the funeral and divvied up what they wanted—I had first pick, of course—but I was in possession of so many more clothes and knickknacks that I didn't know what to do.

Aside from donating, of course, which was looking more and more like my only choice. That, however, meant buying or finding boxes and packing everything, which I'd already started.

Part of the reason I had so many things was because there wasn't much family left to take the stuff. My grandparents on my mother's side were elderly and stuck in a retirement home, unable to even make the trip down from Wyoming. My dad's parents had already passed away five years ago and he had been an only child. The only other family I had were two uncles on my mom's side and all of their kids, also in Wyoming.

I couldn't help but feel a little bad about eyeing what my parents belongings while at the same time resenting my aunts and uncles for doing it as well. I'd thought of them as vultures.

It wasn't much—they had a big screen TV I would keep, all of the fine china Mom had collected, and of course most of the furniture as well as my dad's computer. My aunts and uncles had taken a few blankets, some pictures, and a few other oddments.

"Kathryn?" Sharon murmured, stepping up to me.

When I glanced over my shoulder, I was surprised by how close she was. I ran my hand over my hair while being careful not to misplace any strands. My eyes had started watering again, so I carefully brushed the tears aside without smearing my mascara.

"No," I said, squaring my shoulders and turning around to face Sharon. "Let me see how the day plays out."

Sharon nodded and offered her best reassuring smile. "Okay. But you can stop at any time and go home, alright? I'll put you on the drive-through if you want, to ease you back into work. Would that be okay with you?"

"Sure."

At least that would make it less likely for people to recognize me, which was a 100% chance if I was at the counter. My home town of Park City had a population less than a thousand, while Laurel—where I worked—had nearly seven thousand. Everyone who was a regular at my bank knew Mom and I on a personal level.

Which meant they all had something to say about the accident.

It was better that I remained anonymous at the drive-through. Well, semi-anonymous.

However, I became aware in a very short time that I had underestimated how observant my patrons could be.

Early morning customers started to roll in on their way to work or whatever errands they had to run for the day and I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. Maybe I should have stood at the front counters instead—not many people came inside until early afternoon. It might have been less busy.

The third customer pulled up and I glanced up from my computer out the heavily-tinted window, recognizing the elderly lady in the car but unable to recall her name.

She fumbled in her purse for a moment, then called for help. I pressed the microphone button for her chute and smiled. Mom always said you could hear a smile in someone's voice. "Good morning and welcome to United Bank NA, how can I help you today?"

"Yes, hello! I would like to make a withdrawal."

I nodded even though she couldn't see. "Of course, will you need a slip?"

"Please. I thought I had one but I can't find it." The woman had pulled up a little too far from the chute and was hanging out her window. It seemed like it would have been easier to open the door, but whatever worked for her.

"I'd be happy to send you one. One moment, please."

There was a pause in conversation while I picked out the correct form and placed it in the capsule. The silence extended until she received it through the tube. She fumbled with it, then my speaker lit up again and I leaned to listen.

"Thank you, dear. Is this Kathryn Walker, by any chance?"

For a split second I thought about lying, but it was a split second too late. "Yes, why?"

"I heard about the accident, I'm so sorry about your mother. I always came to her when I needed to see a banker," the woman said. "I only spoke with your father a couple times, but he seemed like a very nice man."

My throat tightened and I fought to swallow tears. "Thank you, that means a lot."

She filled out her withdrawal slip and sent it back so I could process it. The entire time she jabbered away about her pleasant talks with Mom, stopping only when I sent her the cash.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I made an effort to keep my voice even.

"No, dear. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you for banking with us," I murmured.

I stood as she left, holding myself together by threads, and knew I wasn't able to pull this off. I glanced at the counters to see which teller was free and approached him. "James I need you take over for me for a little bit, please."

His mouth formed an unspoken complaint that was quashed the second he saw me. "Oh, sure thing." He logged off his computer and scurried to the drive-through controls.

"Thank you."

With that, I made a bee-line for the break room. I pushed past the door and braced myself against the back wall. I knocked off a notice pinned to the corkboard but left it on the floor and instead tried to catch my breath. The tears threatened to break through my careful barriers, but I brushed them aside as soon as they breached—wary of my mascara.

A few minutes later, when I had finally composed myself and replaced the notice, a soft hand brushed my shoulder and I turned sharply to see Sharon. She pulled her hand back and smiled, chagrined.

"Sorry," I muttered, sniffing and fretting over my hair.

"Take some more time. We won't think any less of you." Her smile was warm and she tilted her head to the side. "You need to take care of yourself first and foremost, and then in another couple of weeks you can come on back to work. We can start you slow—part-time hours for a while, move you back up into full-time when you're ready. . . ."

Fighting to straighten up, I shook my head before forcing a smile. "No—no just a couple more weeks, then I can jump back in to full-time. I'll need the hours and. . . I'll need the distraction."

Sharon's mouth opened a closed a few times as she fought to find a decent counter argument but she thought better of it and nodded. Sighing, she said, "Yeah, that's fine. Two more weeks, then give me a call, okay?"

I nodded and took a breath. "Alright, then you have a deal." After taking a few more breaths I approached my locker to retrieve my belongings. I didn't know what I was going to do for the rest of the day besides call realtors—maybe figure out if it was easier to sell the house myself. More phone calls. There always seemed to be people to talk to about one thing or another.

"Certainly," Sharon assured me, seeing me out of the room once I'd clocked out.

Once again I left through the back door to avoid being see by anyone and dealing with the customers. I'd managed to stay in work for an hour and a half, so more and more customers that I knew were starting to file in. Sometimes the camaraderie that came from living in a small town was nice. Everyone was ready to help out when they knew all their neighbors.

But that also meant knowing the people who had killed your parents.

Carla and Lloyd Richards worked at the tiny convenience store in town. They had been going out to lunch and supposedly they lost control of their car for—no apparent reason. Even though the mechanic who looked at our cars said there was nothing wrong with their SUV, when Mom and Dad turned that corner the Richards veered and slammed into them.

Their exact words: "Of its own accord."

At least they'd had the common courtesy not to show up at the funeral after that weak excuse. As if they could claim such a thing when there was nothing wrong with their vehicle. Not even a dent or a tiny scratch.

I couldn't say as much for my parents or their car.

My parent's Monte Carlo was fucked up beyond all recognition; it hadn't stood a snowball's chance in hell against the Richards' Escalade, and that was the only reason why they lived while my parents wound up dead. Mom didn't make it out of the vehicle, Dad hadn't made it out of surgery. Meanwhile, Carla and Lloyd were suffering from some neck and back pain.

It made me feel guilty, but part of me was glad. It was maybe the first grudge I'd ever held in my entire life.

Even if they swore up and down it wasn't their fault, I blamed them. Oh did I ever. Lose control of their car—my lily white ass. They hadn't been paying attention, nothing else. It might not have been a malicious intention, but they should have been charged with negligence and I hoped their licenses were revoked for the next eight hundred years.

At least they were held responsible up to an extent. The investigation was still pending, and slow-going; nothing like this happened often in Park City and the police had to come from Laurel to make any headway.

Their insurance had paid out the cost of the car, but that was it—the Richards' didn't have full coverage on their insurance and my parents didn't have life insurance.

That was all the money I was getting out of the accident, unless I wanted to sue them for every penny they had. However, I felt like that was out of the question—not when there was a chance everyone in the town and the next one over would hate me for the rest of my life.

On top of that, they worked at a convenience store, so it wasn't like they were rolling in cash to begin with. If I did sue, I would never see that money and they would be destitute for life.

So, I took the insurance money for the totaled vehicle and cut my losses.

Those thoughts fueled me out the door. If I held on to the anger, then there wasn't enough room for the grief. If there was no room for grief, I couldn't cry.

Once outside, I reeled backwards and leaned against the building with my hand on my brow. I couldn't let an old couple or an old lady cause such turmoil.

When I recovered enough to go to my car, I was surprised to realize it wasn't where I left it. I could have sworn I'd parked it under the same tree I always did, but it was in a different spot—across the parking lot on the complete opposite side. I stared at it for a few moments, wondering if I was so out of it that I couldn't remember where I had parked.

After a few seconds of looking around in confusion I shook my head and marched onward.

You're going crazy with grief.

I'd had my off-white Toyota Camry since I was seventeen. It had about a million miles on it, but despite that it was pretty reliable save for a few necessary tune-ups and oil changes. The thing had been my mom's when she had started dating my dad, so it wasn't without problems, but no major repairs had been needed so far. At least nothing that broke the bank.

I adjusted the loose rear-view mirror like I always did, working on auto-pilot while my mind raced around to a million different places. My mom had once sat in this seat years ago, and though I had planned to buy a new car with the insurance money, I found it harder than ever to let go of it.

There was plenty of other sentimental things in the house I could choose from, but as I sat in the Camry and thought about Mom, I was appalled that I ever wanted to sell the thing.

"Just your emotions talking," I muttered. The Camry was ancient and I'd been saving up for a new car for a while. It was the best time to upgrade—but I would hold on to it for a little while. Until I had time to settle down. That was the plan.

To insure I wasn't going to crash due to an emotional break-down, I turned the music up high and drove slowly.

At least I-90 wasn't very busy in late morning, so it was only a thirteen minute drive back to the house instead of twenty minutes. It seemed like I'd been born in that place, so knowing I had to sell it made my throat run dry.

It wasn't right! I was only twenty-two years old. I had so much to do, and my parents were supposed to see it. I was supposed to get married and they were supposed to be there, in the front row, and my father was supposed to walk me down the aisle. I was supposed to have kids, and they were supposed to be there to spoil them.

I had plans to move out of state—maybe go work for a big chain bank in California. Go to school for. . .something, and find a real career. Without my parents around, though, I wasn't sure what I could do. What I wanted to do. If I could even have a life outside of the town anymore.

If I was even able to be an actual adult.

Now I felt more stuck than when they'd been alive.

However, I knew the feeling would pass. Once it had all blown over, once I sold the house and straightened out their estate, I would be able to move out. I had to move. I was not about to live in my childhood home without my parents, or in that town with their murderers.

Oh, sorry, accidental murderers.

For three years I'd been saving money to move out and rent my own place. The sad irony was, even though I had the opportunity now, I had to pay for the funeral and the hospital bills and the small amount of credit card debt we had racked up. My parents weren't poor, but it would be a little while before the lawyers could sort out who received what.

And the lawyers—there was another fee I was going to have to pay.

Playing the music didn't work. My mind kept wandering back to everything going wrong in my life. Tears threatened to fall and I wiped them away so they wouldn't obscure my vision.

Somehow, though, I pulled into my driveway without incident. Or remembering what turns I took. Or why it had only taken eight minutes to drive home when it should have been twice that. I had thought for sure I'd been driving slower. . . .

Confused and distraught, I sat in the Camry for a few minutes while I composed myself, drawing comfort from the idle vibrations and warmth of the seat.

"I'm going crazy," I said, leaning my forehead against my steering wheel.

Finally, when I deemed myself calm, I locked up the car and made my way inside. My purse was tossed on one end of the couch, my jacket draped over the back of it, and I locked the door behind me. There was stuff I had to do, and I flicked through my mental checklist.

Call lawyers.

Call realtors.

Box up more stuff.

Eat something. Maybe.

However, once inside, I didn't do any of those. Instead, I saw fit to move the picture from that morning and face-plant on the couch, business suit and everything. I stayed like that for several minutes, one leg hanging over the side and face buried in the cushions. Eventually my body reminded me of the need to breathe and I rolled to my side.

The better half of my judgment told me to remove myself from the couch and change out of my work clothes. I pushed myself up and went to my room to undress.

Only a few things were different in that room in all my years of living there—My twin bed had been replaced with a queen about two years ago. I'd repainted the ugly pink walls into a dark maroon after high school, and the posters of boy bands had been replaced with a calendar and a big movie poster for Skyline the theater in Laurel had gifted me.

I'd wanted to move out at twenty, but I hadn't quite pulled my life together by then. It was a miracle I'd even been hired, since I'd decided not to attend college after graduation. Mom had already had a job at the bank, so I'd weaseled my way in as a teller. I would have to go to special classes if I wanted to be a real banker like Mom had been. It wasn't hard work, and the people were nice, so it was a pretty decent first job straight out of high school.

Dad had offered me a position at his job working for the government, but he travelled so much and was gone sometimes for weeks. I hadn't thought I'd enjoy being away from home and living in hotels like that.

Thought I'd asked, he never did explain why we didn't move closer to his work. Mom had always been fine with it, but he'd insisted we stay in Park City—one-horse town extraordinaire.

Once I was in some street clothes, I sat down in the living room and looked at my phone, staring at the contacts. I still hadn't taken my parents' numbers out. Their names sat there, and I thought about calling them to listen to the voicemail, but I knew that wouldn't do any good, just make things worse.

Besides that, I had already called the phone company to let them know that they wouldn't be using the service anymore, so chances were I'd hear an automated message telling me the line was no longer in service. I was thankful that I wouldn't need to pay an early contract termination fee on top of everything else: the company had been very understanding.

Tossing my phone to the side, I put my head in my hands and tried to clear my mind of all thoughts. That lasted for a few seconds, and then I turned on the TV and left it on the channel that popped up.

An hour-long episode had passed before I decided to be productive.

The crime drama that had been playing was replaced by a movie. I left it on that channel and moved from the couch over to the ancient desktop computer in the corner of the room. I couldn't wait until I was able to ditch the dinosaur and take my dad's newer computer he used for work. I probably could have done it at any time, but I felt like it would make his office feel more empty. The thought made my stomach twinge, but I knew I had to move past it.

When I finished packing up everywhere else and might start on his office, I'd switch out the computers and add the dinosaur to the pile of stuff that I needed to sell.

If anyone would even buy a computer ten years old.

How was I going to pull that off? A yard sale? That seemed like the only reasonable method, but something about having a bunch of strangers needling at my parents' things rubbed me the wrong way, but whatever cash I made from it would help with everything.

It was too much to think about. I had to do it one step at a time.

After a few frustrating tries at coaxing the desktop to start, I worked up the courage to move into Dad's study and use that computer to look up house-selling tips.

The world didn't collapse, so I decided to use it more often.

*:･ﾟ✧

Staying cooped up in the house wasn't an option for me. Ever since I was little there was never not a time that I didn't have something to do. Whether it was playing with friends, going to school, cheerleader practice (I wasn't great at it so I'd quit before high school), homework, or my job; I always had something to occupy my time.

The last month was almost worse than torture. If I wasn't meeting with the lawyers or trying to pull together some semblance of a funeral, I had nothing to do. Work wouldn't take me and some days I just didn't feel like going outside at all.

The boredom was taking its toll.

I was going to come down with cabin fever if I didn't figure out something. Work had been my last ditch effort, and that had fallen flat.

Even though it pained me so, the most obvious thing seemed to be to go to the grocery store and stock up. I hadn't gone at all since the accident, instead buying my essentials from the gas station down the street from me—milk, water, some snacks to keep me from starving. . . .

But I could only stall the inevitable for so long.

Carla and Lloyd were the last people on Earth I wanted to see, but there was only one real grocery store in town, though it wasn't even that—just a convenience store. Sure there was Wal-Mart in the next town over, but I hated driving all the way out there. I usually preferred driving to the local stores and supporting the little people, since my town was made up of little people. But maybe I could make an exception this one time and drive back to Laurel.

Because I sure wasn't ready to forgive those two. I might not ever.

It took a few minutes for me to psyche myself up for the trip and put on my sneakers. Then I grabbed my car keys hanging on the doorknob from my lanyard, and went outside.

No turning back now.

My drive out to the grocery store was spent giving myself a pep-talk. I kept the radio down low while the stupid commercials played, hands at ten and two, eyes straight forward.

"You need more food. There isn't even any good cereal. Or milk. You've lost weight. Gotta keep eating. . .really splurge yourself and buy something with some substance. Maybe a steak, how hard can steak be to cook, really? You'll figure it out. You have the internet," I muttered to myself.

Maybe they wouldn't even be there.

The turn came. I was a block away and my eyes darted to the small building with the big Kwik Stop sign on top. If it wasn't here, we'd have to drive out to our neighboring town for anything.

Besides not having a few things like a bank, we were a pretty self-sustained little town. Park City didn't have much in the terms of entertainment, though. It was one of the only reasons why my friends and I didn't start much trouble in high school—there was literally nothing to do to wind up in trouble.

Well there was the casino but we weren't allowed anywhere near that when we were in school. They'd see us coming a mile away and have security ready to throw us out before we even reached the door. If we wanted to entertain ourselves we had to make our own fun. Once we could drive, though, we would head over to nearby towns for parties.

I reached the turn and I flicked on my indicators. There was a tightness in my chest, and when the moment came—I turned off my blinker and stayed straight.

The wheel jerked in my hands as if attempting to make the turn, but I brushed it off as a muscle spasm from the stress. However, in the same breath, a strange sound made me turn my attention to the dash board. I dialed the radio down to absolute silence and stared for a second, still glancing up at traffic, and tried to listen for the sound again. It had been like a groan, like there was a strain on my axles or something, but I didn't hear it again despite my attempts to replicate it.

"Don't break down on me now," I sighed, turning instead into the Smoken Antlers BBQ Café.

I guessed I was going to have to drive the twenty minutes to Laurel and do all of my shopping there—but the next day. Already I had done enough to feel proud of, though I didn't normally like going somewhere and eating alone. There would be plenty of people in there to keep me company, whether I liked it or not.

In a town of only 800-some-odd people, you were never really alone, even if you felt like everyone you knew was gone.