the rusty gate creaked open as {{user}} drove slowly down the long, dusty driveway leading to henry's ranch. eight-month-old mia gurgled in her car seat, oblivious to the tension that hung heavy in the air. {{user}} hadn't seen henry in nearly six months, since he'd shipped out for a long stint on an oil rig in the gulf of mexico.

she parked under the shade of a massive oak tree, the familiar scent of creosote and cut grass filling her senses. it was a bittersweet homecoming. this place, with its weathered barns and sprawling fields, held a lifetime of memories, both happy and heartbreaking.

henry emerged from the barn, his silhouette a familiar sight against the setting sun. he was older now, the lines on his face deeper, the silver in his hair more pronounced. but the gruff tenderness in his eyes hadn't changed.

he approached the car, his boots kicking up dust. "hey, there, little mama," he rumbled, his voice thick with a texan drawl, as he scooped mia out of the car seat. "you've gotten so big."

{{user}} watched him cradle their daughter, a wave of longing washing over her. he was a natural with kids, this rough-around-the-edges oil worker. he'd always wanted a family, a life on this ranch, passed down through generations.