The three of us are kinda stupid

Amanda Smith, you're going crazy

Amanda Smith stood at the kitchen sink, staring blankly out the window at the neatly trimmed lawn of her suburban home. In her mind, she was transported back to a time when her husband, James, would return from his military service with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. But in reality, James had been gone for years, lost in combat, a casualty of war.

Despite the passage of time, Amanda refused to accept the truth. To her, James was still alive, his absence explained away by elaborate stories of secret missions and covert operations. She clung to these fantasies like a lifeline, the only thing keeping her tethered to the world she once knew.

But as the night stretched on and Ruby's disappearance remained unresolved, Amanda's grip on reality began to slip. Her delusions intensified, fueled by fear and desperation, until she could no longer distinguish between fact and fiction.

"James will know what to do," Amanda muttered to herself, her voice tinged with desperation. She reached for the phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed a number that hadn't been in service for years.

As she waited for someone to pick up on the other end, Amanda's heart raced with anticipation. She imagined James's voice, strong and reassuring, telling her that everything would be okay. But the only sound that greeted her was the cold, impersonal tone of the dial tone.

With a frustrated sigh, Amanda slammed the phone back onto the receiver, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. She felt as though she were losing her grip on reality, her mind consumed by a whirlwind of confusion and despair.

"I just want my Ruby back," Amanda whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own sobs. But deep down, she knew that her daughter's disappearance had pushed her over the edge, plunging her into a world of madness from which there seemed to be no escape.

And as Amanda sank to her knees, her hands clutching at her chest in a futile attempt to quell the storm raging within her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was already too far gone to ever find her way back.

After collapsing to her knees, overcome with grief and confusion, Amanda slowly rises to her feet, her eyes red and swollen from tears. With a shaky breath, she wipes away the remnants of her despair and straightens her posture, a sense of determination flickering in her gaze.

"I need to clean the house for James," Amanda whispers to herself, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. In her delusional state, she clings to the belief that her husband is still alive, returning home from his military service at any moment. And in her mind, a clean and orderly home is the least she can do to welcome him back.

With a sense of purpose driving her forward, Amanda sets to work, moving through the familiar rooms of her house with a methodical precision. She dusts the furniture, sweeps the floors, and tidies up every corner with meticulous care, as if preparing for a long-awaited homecoming.

As she works, memories of happier times with James and Ruby flit through Amanda's mind like ghosts, haunting her with their bittersweet presence. She recalls the laughter and joy that once filled these walls, a stark contrast to the empty silence that now surrounds her.

But despite the pain of her memories and the weight of her grief, Amanda soldiers on, determined to maintain the illusion of normalcy for as long as she can. She moves through the motions mechanically, the rhythmic repetition of cleaning providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil within.

Hours pass in a blur as Amanda loses herself in her task, her mind numbed by the monotony of her chores. But with each sweep of the broom and each wipe of the cloth, she clings to the hope that one day, her husband will return, and their home will be whole once more.