“I don’t understand…” I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest as I look over at my children. Their eyes—once full of innocence—now shimmer with the weight of their journey. “This isn’t how it was supposed to end.”
Hersh, my eldest, glances up at me, his usual confidence tempered with something darker now. "Mother," he says softly, "we've done what we could. We were never meant to solve everything."
“I know,” I reply, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "But I wanted to believe there was more hope—more light.”
The world around us seems to stretch before us, a broken mirror reflecting what used to be. The once peaceful village where we’d sought refuge now seems distant, as though it too had been part of a dream I could no longer remember clearly. The trees sway in the breeze, but the
