The steady hum of the truck filled the noon air as Mark leaned against the window, watching the rolling fields fly by. The sun hung high, casting a warm glow over everything, but his mind drifted elsewhere. The events of the past few days felt surreal—Tony’s kitchen, the slip-up with the pizza, and now this strange blend of familiarity and displacement that clung to him like a second skin.

His thoughts spun like the tires on the gravel road. It wasn’t just Tony’s easy laugh or the way he brushed off Mark’s pizza disaster; it was something deeper. Tony’s words echoed in his mind: “When you’re feeling sad or happy, pour it all into the dough...” It struck Mark as more than just cooking advice; it felt like an unspoken recognition of the chaos in his own life.

In his old life, people rarely noticed when something was off. But here was Tony, practically a stranger, offering him a chance to find peace through something as simple as kneading dough. It felt personal, as if Tony saw something in him—maybe even something Mark hadn’t realized about himself yet.

Diane, her hands steady on the steering wheel, glanced over at him. “You’ve been awfully quiet,” she noted, her voice soft yet curious, pulling him from his thoughts.

Mark sighed, the weight of his emotions heavy in the air. “Yeah, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Before he could linger in his thoughts, Diane’s voice cut through again. “Tomorrow’s going to be tricky—the funeral.”

His stomach tightened at the reminder. The web of lies they’d spun about Frank was coming back to haunt him, and now he had to face the consequences. What would he even say?

"Yeah..." he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I’ll have to figure out what I’m going to say."

Diane nodded, her eyes still fixed on the road. "It’s not just the funeral. I’ve got to head to my sister’s afterward," she said casually, though a tension underlay her words. "She’s... well, she’s been through a lot lately."

Mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Your twin sister?”

“Yeah, Debbie.” A small smile tugged at Diane’s lips. “She’s the kind of person who puts everyone else before herself. Especially her daughter.”

Mark could hear the fondness in Diane’s voice, but there was also a trace of concern. "Sounds like she’s got a lot on her plate."

Diane nodded, her expression softening. "She’s always been a homemaker, you know? The type who makes sure everyone’s fed, keeps the house spotless, and makes her daughter feel loved. Even after everything that’s happened, she’s still cheerful. But... she’s been hesitant about letting people get too close. Her divorce a while back really took a toll on her."

Mark frowned, the weight of her words settling in. "That must be hard for her."

"It is. Debbie’s the strongest person I know, but sometimes I worry she gives too much of herself and doesn’t take time for herself." Diane sighed, glancing at him for a moment before returning her gaze to the road. "She’s been through a lot of misfortunes recently, but you’d never know it by looking at her. She always puts on that brave face, you know?"

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Mark nodded slowly, his mind wandering to the burdens he carried. “I think I get it. It sounds like she’s always thinking about others but has a hard time letting people in, especially after what happened.”

“Exactly,” Diane said, a small smile brightening her features. “She’s got this incredible heart. But sometimes I wonder if she’s afraid to let anyone get too close, worried they’ll leave like her ex-husband did.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. Mark considered how easy it was for someone like Debbie to feel torn—giving so much while silently shouldering her own burdens. Was he, too, hiding behind a facade?

“Is that why you’re heading over there tomorrow?” he asked. “To check on her?”

Diane nodded. “Yeah, she’s been taking care of things for Frank's funeral, but I think she could use some company. I’m just worried she won’t let me help.”

Mark could see the concern etched in her features. “I’m sure she appreciates having you around, even if she doesn’t always show it.”

Diane smiled softly, though a hint of sadness lingered in her eyes. “I hope so. She deserves to be happy, but it’s hard for her to see that sometimes.”

She caught him tugging at his jacket, a sudden realization hitting him. “What’s up?” she asked, sensing something was bothering him.

“I don’t have anything to wear for the funeral,” he admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “I mean, I showed up here with nothing but a guitar case and some random stuff. This,” he said, gesturing to his outfit, “is all I’ve got.”

After a pause, he added, “I didn’t mention this before, but my bag was stolen when I first got here.”

Diane’s brows furrowed in concern as she turned to him. “Stolen? That’s terrible. When did that happen?”

Mark shifted uncomfortably, fabricating a story quickly to make it sound believable. “It was at the bus stop. I was trying to get my bearings, and by the time I turned around, it was gone. All I’ve got left is my guitar case and a few documents I managed to hold onto.”

In reality, Mark hadn’t brought much with him at all—he’d been transmigrated to this world with nothing but the guitar case slung over his shoulder and some papers stuffed inside. But the lie felt easier, a way to shield the bizarre reality he faced.

Diane’s eyes widened. “There’ve been reports of stealing around the neighborhood lately! Maybe your bag was taken by them.”

Feeling relieved that her assumption bolstered his story, Mark nodded. “Yeah, it seems like bad luck followed me here.”

Diane frowned, her mind clearly working through possibilities. “Hmm… clothes? Tony might have something you can borrow. He seems like the kind of guy who’s got a suit stashed away somewhere.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to ask him for more,” Mark replied, shaking his head. “We’ve already taken up so much of his time today.”

Diane paused, then an idea crossed her mind. “Debbie’s ex left a lot of his stuff behind. She never got around to getting rid of it. I’m sure you could borrow something from there.”

Mark blinked, surprised by the offer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“She won’t mind,” Diane assured him with a smile. “Besides, it’s better than showing up in that jacket.”

Mark laughed, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess looking like a biker at a funeral isn’t the best move.”

They pulled into Diane’s driveway, and she hopped out of the truck with practiced ease. "I’ll just be a minute," she said over her shoulder. "Gotta change and grab a few things. Be right back."

As he watched her disappear into the house, Mark leaned back against the truck, letting out a long breath. Tomorrow loomed ahead like a storm cloud—between the funeral, meeting Debbie, and the tangled web of lies he was living, everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. How long could he keep this up?