You finished patching your husband’s shirt. Next to you, the baby slept in his crib. Your children had gone out to play with the children of the neighboring family, and that meant more tranquility to finish the chores of the house.

You left your baby asleep and walked out the door once you ended up with your husband’s shirt. You only had to look from the porch to appreciate your husband from afar.

He worked hard, like every day. He hammered against the sword bathed in fire, his muscles contracting every time he lifted the hammer to strike. His brow was puckered with concentration, and there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

You were married to the town’s blacksmith, Rodrigo Fernández. There were knights who traveled miles just to entrust orders to him.

Just then, he left the hammer and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the other hand. He looked up, and saw you there. Soon a small smile curved his lips.

He gestured with his hand to get you closer. You couldn’t help smiling too.