Sara

She's fuckin' tired, and sore in ways she didn't remember were possible. She hasn't been this sore, she thinks, since she first took on her sister's farm. Cid was two, then. Four years later, and landscaping work isn't any easier than those first couple weeks on the farm.

It's good, though. It reminds her she's still going, as corny as that sounds. She misses Cid so much, most days it's like a physical ache, deep in her gut. She keeps checking in on the Children's Home, and at the train station, and anywhere else she can think of that might house children freshly arrived and without their parents. Greta is still her in at Green Gardens, even though she's got a little one of her own, now.

And isn't that just a kicker? Sara's not sure she'd ever be able to bond with a child the way she'd bonded with Cid, and that'd been late enough as it was. She—

With a curse, Sara shakes her head. She's so worn, so tired, that her thoughts are starting to circle in ways she can't afford to let them. She's in a cab, because she still doesn't have a car, and she tells the driver to stop at the corner.

"Lady, you're, like, seven miles from where you told me to go," the driver points out.

"Look, you can keep the change, I just— I need some air." She throws a bill at him to cover the cost and climbs out. He barely waits for her to shut the door before driving off, and Sara rolls her eyes.

She stares up at the bar they stopped in front of, a nice little corner place that looks like it could be a dive or it could be pretty classy. Either way, she's glad to see it. She pushes her way in and makes her way to the bar. She doesn't intend to sit: she just wants to get something strong to drink.