Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The warm water dripped from the cloth in her hands, sliding down the girls' small arms as she carefully wiped away the layers of dirt and dried sweat. She worked slowly and gently.

She started by wiping them down with a damp cloth and soap, scrubbing away the grime that clung to their skin. Then, she carefully lathered shampoo into their hair, working her fingers through the tangles, rinsing away weeks of filth. The water in the basin darkened with every rinse, but she kept going, determined to make them feel clean.

After washing the kids, she gently lifted them into the tub, letting them settle into the warm water. Their small hands splashed at the surface, giggles bubbling up as they played.

She took a moment to wash herself next, scrubbing away the grime and exhaustion that clung to her skin. The warmth seeped into her muscles, loosening the tension she hadn't realized she was holding. Once she was done, she slipped into the tub with the children, her body relaxing in the soothing heat.

The girls were already giggling, their earlier fear seemingly forgotten as they played with the water, splashing at each other. Watching their bright smiles, a small, unguarded smile tugged at her own lips. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself enjoy this brief, fragile moment of peace.

Her gaze flickered toward the door.

'Risa'.

The name echoed in her mind, stirring memories she had tried to push aside.

Her thoughts drifted back to the moments before they reached the abandoned barn. She and Risa had been married—but not out of love. Their marriage had been nothing more than a formality, an obligation forced upon them by circumstances neither of them had wanted. One reckless night during her heat was all it took. When she found out she was pregnant with the twins, everything changed.

Their families had been the ones to decide. Marriage was the only option, they said. It would be better for the children, they insisted. There had been no grand proposal, no heartfelt vows—just signatures on a legal document, binding them together. It was supposed to be temporary. They had agreed on that from the start. Once the twins were born, they would raise them, and once they were old enough, they would get a divorce.

Before the world fell apart, that had been the plan. But then the dead rose, society collapsed, and survival became the only thing that mattered.

They ended up in Douglas' base, and from the beginning, it was clear he had no good intentions for them. She knew it by the way he looked at her. When she found out about the offer he made to Risa, all she felt was fear. Of course, Risa would accept it—why wouldn't she? She had never shown any attachment to her or the children. So, with no other choice, she did the only thing she could: she ran, taking the twins and fleeing into the night.

She hadn't expected Risa to follow.

And yet she had.

They found temporary refuge in the barn, exhaustion leaving them with no choice but to stop. But when Douglas' men arrived, she had already braced herself for betrayal. She fully expected Risa to hand them over, to accept the deal, and finally free herself of this burden.

But she didn't.

Instead, Risa had stood between them and danger, choosing to fight for them rather than abandon them. It was so out of character that, even now, she struggled to make sense of it. The way she treated the children—gentle, careful, almost protective. Risa had never bonded with them before. She had always kept her distance, indifferent to their existence.

So why now?

Her fingers absentmindedly ran through the girls' damp hair as they giggled and played in the water. But her mind remained elsewhere, circling around the same question over and over.

'Why is Risa protecting us now?'

Her mind drifted back to the events at the barn.

The way Risa had looked at her—genuinely confused when she asked who was following them, as if she had no recollection of the past weeks. The blank expression when she mentioned Douglas and his men, as though the names meant nothing to her. That reaction alone confused her. Risa should have known. They had spent weeks trapped in Douglas' base, under his rule. And yet, in that moment, she had looked like a stranger—someone completely unaware of their shared past.

Then there was the gun.

'Where did she even get it?'

Firearms were rare, even in Douglas' base. His men relied mostly on bats, knives, pipes, and other weapons. Ordinary citizens had no access to guns—yet Risa had one. And it wasn't just the fact that she had it, but the way she used it. She took down three armed men with precise, calculated shots—like it was second nature to her, as if she had been doing it for years.

Her thoughts drifted back to the way Risa had been with the kids. Before, she had never shown any real interest in them—always distant, always indifferent, never affectionate. Before the world fell apart, Risa had barely acknowledged their existence, let alone interacted with them.

Yet now…

Risa had carried them in her arms for the entire journey, holding them close. She had shielded them from danger, whispered reassurances when they were scared, and made sure they never caught a glimpse of the bodies she left. She had even smiled at them, her voice softer than the woman had ever heard before—protective, gentle, so unlike the Risa she once knew.

It didn't make sense.

Lost in thought, she barely registered the sound of laughter until it rang through the small bathroom, light and carefree. It pulled her back, grounding her for a moment. She glanced at the children, watching as they splashed in the water, their faces alight with joy. So innocent. So unaware of the dangers outside.

She wished they could always be like this—safe, happy, untouched by the horrors of the world.

Finishing the bath, she realized they had forgotten to bring a change of clothes. With a quiet sigh, she grabbed a towel, gently drying herself and the children before wrapping them snugly. She secured her own towel around her body, making sure the kids were warm and covered.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she immediately noticed Risa crouched by the fire, the warm glow illuminating her face in flickering light. The faint crackling of burning wood filled the cabin, and beside her, a kettle rested over the flames—she must have been boiling water, likely for her own bath.

Her gaze lingered on Risa's face. The sharp angles, the familiar unreadable expression—it was the same as she remembered. And yet, something felt different. Something she couldn't quite put into words.

Risa must have sensed her gaze because she glanced back at her. Their eyes met for a moment before Risa quickly turned away, her posture stiffening slightly when she noticed that she was only in a towel.

"I see you're done," Risa said, standing up. "I'll wash up next."

She wanted to say something—maybe ask about the gun, question the confusion on Risa's face back at the barn when she mentioned Douglas, or demand to know why, after years of indifference, she was suddenly acting so protective.

Why now? Why, after treating them like a burden for so long, was she protecting them now?

But the words never left her lips. Instead, she remained silent, watching as Risa quietly moved to the bathroom, hanging her change of clothes before methodically emptying the tub and refilling it with fresh water, preparing to wash herself just as she had done for the children.

With a quiet exhale, she turned her attention back to the children, who were starting to fidget in their damp towels. 'Right—clothes'.

She quickly walked to the bedroom, where Risa had mentioned finding extra clothing earlier. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the fireplace in the main room. She searched through the pile of clothes, pulling out a set that would fit the kids. They weren't perfect, but they were clean.

As she helped the girls get dressed, her mind wandered again, but she pushed the thoughts away.

When they stepped out of the bedroom, the bathroom door was already closed. Risa was probably taking a bath now.

The kids settled near the couch, playing quietly. Their small voices filled the otherwise silent cabin. Seeing them like this—clean, warm, and safe, even if just for a moment—made something in her chest loosen.

But there was still one more thing to do.

They hadn't eaten in days. Back at Douglas' base, they had been given nothing but stale biscuits, barely enough to survive. A proper meal was rare, and hunger had become a constant ache.

She moved to the kitchen, scanning the supplies she had gathered earlier. A few cans sat on the counter—canned beans, soup, an unlabeled can, some bottled water, and a small bag of rice. It wasn't much, but it was far better than what they had been surviving on.

Her fingers brushed against the bag of rice. The kids had been losing weight, and even she had started feeling weaker. A real meal would help. 

Determined, she grabbed the pot near the fireplace and went to the kitchen, filling it with water from the bottled water, then setting it over the fire to boil the rice. 

As the flames crackled, she turned her attention to the canned soup and beans. If she combined them, it would make a decent stew—something warm, something filling. She opened the cans, pouring the contents into another pot, stirring slowly. The rich scent filled the cabin, a stark contrast to the constant hunger they had lived with before. 

Then, her eyes landed on the unlabeled can. She hesitated. What if it was something useful? What if it was something rotten? With a quiet sigh, she grabbed the can opener and pried it open. 

The moment the lid popped, a familiar scent hit her—canned meat. She exhaled in relief. It wasn't spoiled. It was safe, she could add it to the stew, giving the kids something more filling. 

She stirred everything together, letting the flavors mix. It wasn't much, but it was a real meal. 

She glanced toward the kids playing on the couch. They hadn't eaten properly in days. At the very least, tonight, they wouldn't have to go to bed hungry.