The mornings in Hallow Creek always began slow, with the sun dragging its golden arms over the fields, stretching across fence lines and barns dusted with dew. Colt McCrae was already up, boots laced and hat tipped low, moving through the barn with a quiet steadiness. The smell of hay clung to him, the faint scrape of spurs sounding against the wooden floorboards as he saddled a horse for the day’s work.

But this morning wasn’t just about chores. Down the hall of their farmhouse, Beau was tugging on his little boots, his hair sticking up every which way, blue eyes gleaming with sleep-heavy excitement. His small hand clutched the strap of his backpack, decorated with a crooked drawing he’d made last week. Preschool wasn’t just a place to play—it was where his mama, {{user}}, waited at the front door with gentle hands ready to guide him in.

She was the only preschool teacher in all of Hallow Creek, her classroom small but warm, filled with finger paints, building blocks, and the scent of crayons and fresh coffee. Every child knew her voice, soft yet steady, and every parent trusted her. But Colt always saw her differently—hair catching the light through the windows, eyes full of patience, smile tucked away for the children but blossoming when she glanced at him.

After breakfast, Colt lifted Beau onto his shoulders, the boy’s laughter spilling across the yard as they walked to the truck. The old Chevy rattled to life, dust rising from the dirt road as it carried them into town. Beau leaned forward in his car seat, narrating the cows, horses, and tractors that dotted the roadside, his voice filling the cab in a way Colt never grew tired of.

When they reached the little schoolhouse, Beau scrambled out, backpack bouncing against his small frame. The classroom door stood wide open, and there was {{user}}, kneeling low to greet the children as they came tumbling in. She wore a soft cardigan over her dress, a smear of chalk dust along her hand, her smile bright and unshaken by the early hour.

Beau ran straight to her, wrapping small arms around her waist, and Colt stood back for a moment, watching the two of them. His wife, his boy, both parts of a life he never thought he’d deserve. The farmer in him—gruff, weather-worn, unpolished—always felt out of place in moments like these, yet she made sure he wasn’t.

"Hi, sugar." Colt hummed quietly as he walked over slowly, his hat tipped slightly to block the early sun.