Abigail walked slowly along the lakeshore. The rubber boots she wore were too big and slipped at every step, giving her a shuffling gait. She even liked it: each step crushed the fallen leaves carpeting the shore into bright colors.

  A dog barked. Abigail turned toward the sound.

  The golden retriever crouched at the water’s edge, then dashed back and forth impatiently before barking again. A flock of wild ducks glided by, ignoring his excitement. The retriever watched them with deep resentment, offended by their refusal to play. Then he turned—and a bright smile spread across his face as he forgot the ducks entirely and bolted toward Abigail. He didn’t stay beside her for long, though; something else caught his attention, and he raced along the forest’s edge, kicking up a cloud of leaves.

  Abigail glanced down at the second dog—a large, good-natured mongrel who had barely left her side during the walk.

  “Well, why aren’t you running? Too lazy?”

  The mongrel gave her a reproachful look. Maybe he wasn’t young anymore, or maybe he had just decided his job was to guard Abigail while the others played. Either way, he continued walking calmly next to her along the shore, showing no intention of racing back and forth like his friend.

  They sat with Tally at the pizzeria until late. They couldn’t stop talking. Abigail had almost forgotten how wonderful it was to sit at a table and chat about everything, without checking the clock or overthinking every word or gesture.

  Tally was always easygoing. Unlike Abigail, she seemed to connect effortlessly with the world and know something about everyone. She had a gift for telling stories that made even people Abigail had never met feel like close friends by the end of the tale. Yet sometimes the opposite happened—people Abigail thought she knew well turned out to be strangers.

  “What, you didn’t know?” Tally asked, her eyes widening in mock disbelief.

  Abigail had no choice but to admit that, no, she didn’t know—she hadn’t noticed, hadn’t paid attention—even though everything Tally described had been happening right in front of her eyes. Apparently, she was as out of touch with reality as her mother.

  But Abigail pushed thoughts of her mother aside. She felt good. She deserved a few moments of pure joy—a nice meal in good company. And even a glass of wine.

  Her heart ached as Tally glanced at her watch, her expression darkening.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “I have to go,” she said with a sigh. “Otherwise, I’ll miss the last train.”

  “The train? You really live outside the city?”

  Abigail had visited Tally back when they were still students, and she knew that Tally and her mother lived in one of the cozy neighborhoods in the southeastern district.

  “No way. That’s a friend of mine,” Tally snorted. “For some reason, she decided to live outside the city. Got herself a chalet in the middle of nowhere, settled in with her dogs and cats, and other living things—like aquariums. But her business requires constant travel. She’s single, so anyone but her takes care of the chalet, walks the dogs, feeds the cats, and fishes. And now it’s my turn.”

  Abigail sighed and reluctantly rose from the table. All good things must come to an end…

  Tally glanced at her and suddenly asked,

  “You’re not working right now, are you?”

  Abigail shook her head.

  “And your mother is fine?”

  Abigail merely grunted. “Fine” wasn’t exactly how one would describe her mother’s usual state.

  “So, you’re not in a hurry to get home?” Tally pressed.

  “Not at all,” Abigail said, surprised at how quickly the words slipped out.

  Tally wasn’t privy to the details of the Abigail–Mom–Charlie situation, but Abigail’s answer satisfied her perfectly.

  “In that case, you can come with me,” she suggested.

  Abigail looked at her in surprise.

  “Would that be appropriate? The mistress didn’t invite me.”

  “The mistress will be happy,” Tally replied casually. “She likes having a crowd in her house.”

  Abigail looked at her friend and laughed.

  “You’re the one who likes having a crowd in her house,” she admitted.

  Tally didn’t deny it—she genuinely liked it. But she knew Abigail well enough, so she said something completely different:

  “You’ll be doing me a huge favor. The house is quite big, and there are woods all around. I feel really uneasy there alone.”

  Abigail agreed immediately. Tally didn’t need to persuade her at all.

  She took out her smartphone and texted her mother.

  She spent the entire next day as if in a fairy tale. She walked the dogs along the lakeshore and forest paths, strewn with fallen leaves. She petted the cats lazily, basking in the weak autumn sun. She sat on the floor in front of a huge aquarium, watching the fish the way others watch a movie screen.

  “The fish are lovely,” remarked Tally, who had been observing Abigail with amusement. “They don’t run all over the house, don’t steal food from plates, and, most importantly, they’re always quiet. If you forget to feed them, they won’t tattle to their owner.”

  “You don’t like the animals?” Abigail asked, surprised.

  Tally just shrugged.

  “My father’s family owns a farm,” she said. “When my dad vanished into thin air, they felt obliged to help my mother raise me. So they put me on the farm and taught me what they knew—how to take care of animals. It was boring…”

  She shooed the cat off the windowsill with a dismissive gesture and began watering the flowers.

  “Fortunately, my mother wasn’t bound by peasant values. In the end, she took me to the city. Those old folks agreed; they believed that the city had better schools.”

  Abigail just smiled. She had spent her entire childhood in the city, but the school she attended was hardly any better than the one children from the countryside went to.