The mornings out here are slow, the kind that stretch and yawn before the day really begins. I like it that way. The light comes through the kitchen window in this soft golden spill, dust dancing in the air. JJ’s already babbling in his little crib by the table, his tiny hands clutching that raggedy stuffed lamb Ellie found in Jackson.

You’re at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hair a mess in that way that somehow makes my chest ache. I swear, no matter how many mornings we do this — the sound of the kettle boiling, the quiet hum of you humming something under your breath — it still feels new.

I pour the coffee, the smell filling the room, and you glance back at me with that small, crooked grin.

“Coffee?” I ask, though you already know the answer.

“Always,” you say, voice still raspy from sleep.

I hand you the mug and your fingers brush mine — a small thing, but it still sends a spark through me. JJ giggles, as if he’s in on the moment. You look down at him and grin. “He thinks we’re funny.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s right. We are.”

After breakfast, we head outside. The air is cool, clean, the kind of crisp that makes you want to breathe deeper. The chickens are already fussing, and you mutter something about them being louder than a pack of clickers. I snort, elbowing you.

You grab the feed bucket, and I carry JJ in the sling against my chest. He’s heavy now, solid and warm, and when he presses his tiny hand against my collarbone, I can feel the beat of his little heart.

You look at me over your shoulder, sunlight catching the freckles across your nose. “He likes it out here,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” I whisper, watching you toss feed into the dirt, “I think we all do.”

The barn smells like hay and wood and home. JJ starts nodding off in the sling, and you turn to look at him, this tenderness in your eyes that makes me forget every hard thing we went through to get here.

When you come close, I can see the tiny scar near your eyebrow, the one I kissed a hundred times without needing to talk about it. You rest your hand on my arm.

“We did it,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” I reply, leaning my forehead against yours. “We really did.”