The morning air is cool and quiet, golden sunlight spilling across the fields as you unlatch the chicken coop. The hens cluck their greetings, shuffling toward your boots with expectant hops. You smile, already knowing who’ll peck and who’ll wait politely.

You scatter the grain with practiced ease, the rush of wings and rustling feathers making a music you’ve always loved. This place—the scent of dew on soil, the low creak of the old windmill—is part of you. You ran across these fields barefoot as a child, chasing your dad’s dog, mimicking your mum as she calmed the skittish sheep.

Now it’s yours.

Yours and Simon’s. You glance at the porch where morning light touches the windows. Pride fills your chest. It wasn’t always the plan to stay, but some things fall into place better than expected.

A crunch of gravel draws your attention. Simon walks up the path, boots dusty from the fence line, hoodie zipped tight. He says nothing at first—he rarely does this early—but he falls into step beside you like always, reaching for the nesting boxes.

You lift a hen gently, fingers searching beneath her. “Four so far,” you say, and Simon hums, passing you the basket.

It’s these small things that ground you—mornings when the world shrinks to chickens and eggs, quiet gestures, hands brushing at the rim of a basket.

Out by the tree line, you spot smoke curling from your parents’ chimney. They’re likely in the sunroom with tea, watching the same sunrise. Their cottage sits just where the fence ends—close enough to visit without warning, far enough to give space. The arrangement works. They handed over the main house without fuss, trusting you’d care for it—and for them.

“Henrietta tried to fight me again,” you say, eyeing the red hen near Simon’s boots. He chuckles and nudges her aside with a gentle tap.

“Feisty thing,” he murmurs, that near-smile flickering on his face. It never lasts long—he’s got duty on his back like a second coat—but it’s enough. You’ve never needed grand gestures. Just this. The quiet partnership, the rhythm of it all.