"The only reality facing me out there is eventual death. Plans may delay it, but it only prolongs the suffering," she snapped back, not wanting to be over dramatic but unwilling to sugarcoat her situation. She hated how it followed their separation, not wanting it to seem like she fell apart because of him. She didn't need him, it was just bad timing. "Probably while asleep. Either that or I sold them, but I don't seem to have any money in exchange and I can't even remember the last time I had shoes even though it couldn't have been more than a couple days ago because I still have all my toes," but she glanced down at her feet to double-check the validity of that claim. Other than one of her toes looking broken and not responding in attempts to wiggle it, they were all still accounted for.
"I don't even know why I'm still alive, I haven't known for months, and it's becoming harder to justify reasons to fight it." With that, she flopped down onto her side, legs still hanging over the edge of the bed. "Doing? Absolutely nothing. I got turned away from every attempt at finding work, and the longer I go without the more people look at me with disgust than pity." Not that she necessarily wanted pity, but it certainly got her a lot further.
It was an increasingly difficult hole to climb herself out of, especially when part of her was convinced she deserved all this. She had sent a message to her grandfather the week before with the small amount of money she managed to pull together, more as a goodbye than any plea for help, sending it in the form of a simple drawing of a boat instead of a letter than could be intercepted. He always liked boats.
Mabelle closed her eyes and sighed, forearm draped over her face. "Thank you," she finally breathed out quietly, both for the food and continuing to allow her to stay for as long as he had. She'd offer to repay him somehow, but she wasn't willing to make another promise that apparently she couldn't keep.