It wasn't entirely fair. It wasn't.
You knew it wasn't.
See that one in the back? She's yours, right?
The one barely visible?
The safe one.
That one is yours.
The one in front? Not yours, not really. Not the same way.
Polka dots. Something Sandra bought her the last time you...well, the last time.
Sandra. She's not your either, not anymore. In the end, she wasn't safe. Not really.
It's the eyes, isn't it? The eyes that get you. Maybe the sun - the way it seems to be an answering presence, a judging presence. Judging...her? You? But not the others. Why is that? What aren't they judged? Interesting.
Do you think yours knows? Knows that it was you? No. She couldn't really know. She'd believe it was someone else - needs to believe that. Just like you do.
But the one in front? He knows. He knew as soon as you made his favorite breakfast with the last of the eggs, quietly, when everyone else was asleep. Knew when you told him not to save any for anyone else, to eat them all. Knew when you told him he's your favorite.