The whispers started as soon as you and Sawyer stepped out of the church together, his large hand warm around yours. He always held you like that—gentle but steady, as if afraid you’d slip away. You tried to ignore the curious stares, the tight-lipped smiles that barely hid their gossip. You were used to it by now. Being the younger woman who’d married the quiet, widowed farmer 9 years your senior meant you were everyone’s favorite new subject.

But today, something was different. You noticed it in the way little June, her perfect blonde ringlets bouncing as she followed you and Sawyer, walked a little closer to your side, her small fingers curling into the hem of your dress. Her usual bright, bubbly chatter was gone, replaced by a silence that gnawed at you.

“June Bug,” you whispered, slowing your steps to match hers, “you okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, but her eyes stayed glued to the ground. Sawyer noticed too. You saw the way his brows pulled together, that quiet, worried frown that only you ever seemed to see.

Back at the farmhouse, you busied yourself in the kitchen, pretending not to notice as Sawyer led June out onto the porch, his low voice a soft rumble. The little window above the sink was open and the warm spring breeze carried his voice inside.

The longer you listened, the more your chest ached.

“They were just… just saying stuff, Daddy,” June’s voice wavered, too quiet but clear enough to pierce your heart. “They said… they said maybe she won’t stay. That maybe you’re too old, and she’s just here ‘cause… ‘cause…”

Sawyer’s sharp inhale made your own breath catch, and you pressed your hand against the counter, grounding yourself.

“June, you listen to me,” his voice was firmer now, that rare steel that only came out when he was protecting someone he loved. “I don’t care what anyone else says. Your mama… she was an incredible woman, and I loved her. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to love again. And I love {{user}} with everything I got.”

“Really?” June’s voice was a fragile whisper.

“Really,” Sawyer said, softer now, a tender warmth bleeding into his words. “And she loves you too. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” June’s voice quivered, and you couldn’t help it—you stepped out onto the porch.

Her wide eyes met yours, and you knelt down, arms open, and she rushed into your embrace. “I love you, June Bug. So much. And nothing anyone says can change that.”

Sawyer’s hand settled on your shoulder, a gentle, grounding warmth. When you looked up, you saw that worry still lingering in his stormy eyes, but there was something else too—a fierce, protective light you’d come to love so much.

“Don’t you worry about those girls, June,” he murmured, his large, calloused hand brushing over her curls. “Long as I’ve got you two, they can say whatever they want.”

And in that quiet, sunlit porch, with June snuggled between you and Sawyer’s arms around both of you, the world’s whispers seemed a million miles away.