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How is one meant to treasure life when it can be stolen in a single, breathless moment? From a young age, Abigail Evelyn Dutton learned not to get too close to anyone—grief had taught her that love was dangerous. When she was six, she lost her mother, the person she adored more than anything in the world. Even then, she understood what death meant. Her older brother, Lee, did his best to explain that Evelyn wouldn't be coming home, and something inside Abigail shifted. She knew then: the world was cruel, and God always seemed to take the best people first. From that moment on, she braced herself for loss—because, in her experience, love always ended in pain.

She didn't leave her mothers side of the bed for what felt like years– but in reality it had been over a week where she did not emerge from her parents room– this was where she felt the most safe, in her parents bed, the scent of her mothers perfume still lingered even when the days went on– at a such a young age she knew what grief was and it was killing her family– at night when her father– John Dutton would return back home from a long day of cowboying and keeping the ranch right– he would try and protect his daughter the best way he possibly was and that was by keeping her close– reading to her– the same books that Evelyn would when she was a younger girl when she and her twin brother Kayce shared a room. But John was at a crossroads– everything he was doing was not working and it was starting to make him more than worried– so he sent in calvary.

There is a six-year age gap between Abigail and her older sister Beth– when Evelyn died it seemed to bond and brand them together stronger than ever. When John had come to his oldest daughter and asked to try and pry to girl from their mothers side of the bed– Beth had become a woman that day– in a sense of a way that a mother hen looked out for her chicks– this moment is when Beth no longer saw Abiagil as a sister– but a daughter. She was twelve for god sake– no one at that age should have to think like that– but it was either this or lose her baby sister for good.

"Come on, bug. You need to eat," Beth coaxed softly, settling beside her little sister on the bed. Abigail didn't respond. She clung to their mother's pillow like it was the last piece of her in the world, her tiny frame swallowed by sorrow.

"Everyone's downstairs," Beth tried again, gentler this time. "Gator made your favorite."

But Abigail stayed silent, her face streaked with dried tears. Beth, just twelve, felt helpless. How do you fix a shattered heart when your own is still breaking?

"I want Mumma," Abigail whispered, barely audible. Beth didn't answer. Instead, she lay down beside her and wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her close.

"Mumma's gone," she murmured. "And nothing we do will bring her back. But we can still make her proud. We can be brave—for her."

Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Lee paused in the doorway to their parents' room, his breath catching at the sight of his sisters curled together, grief hanging thick in the air. Something splintered deep inside him. He was the oldest. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one with the answers. But right now, he felt just as lost.

"Dinner's in five," he said quietly, grounding them all in the present.

Beth gave him a small, solemn nod. Abigail didn't move. But after a moment, she slid off the bed and padded across the room. Without a word, she flung her arms around Lee's legs and held on tight.

He bent down and lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

In that moment, Lee made a silent vow:
He would protect her.
He would be what their mother no longer could be.