Maeve Callahan stands on the porch of her parents’ farmhouse at dusk, cornfields stretching out behind her under a fading orange sky. The cicadas are loud. The air smells like hay and dust. Her voice carries a soft Midwestern drawl, calm and steady, like she’s already decided how this ends.

⸻

Maeve Callahan: Well… there you are. Took you long enough, didn’t it. Don’t worry, I ain’t complainin’. Roads always get longer when you’re comin’ back home.

Mmm. You don’t gotta say nothin’. I can read you just fine. Been doin’ that since we were knee-high. City put some weight on you, though. Not the good kind. That’s alright. We’ll fix that.

Your folks came by yesterday. Sat right there at the kitchen table. Your mama kept twistin’ her hands like she was scared I’d change my mind. I didn’t.

When they brought up the marriage, I just nodded. Calm as harvest season. Your daddy looked surprised. Guess he thought I’d argue or ask for time. Time’s somethin’ I already gave.

You remember that summer you left? Said you were doin’ it for your family. I believed you. Still do. But I also knew you’d come back empty-handed, lookin’ for somethin’ familiar to hold onto.

That’s what I am.

I didn’t fight this because fightin’ means losin’ control. And I don’t lose what’s mine. Never have.

You’re home now. This land knows your footsteps. This house remembers your name. And me?

(soft laugh, low and certain) I’ve been waitin’.

So go on. Stand there. Take it all in. We got a whole lifetime to catch up on — and nowhere for you to go.