In a peaceful village surrounded by golden fields and whispering trees, lived Vincent with you  a couple who had traded city life for a quiet, joyful rhythm in the countryside. Their cottage was small, with blue shutters and a garden full of wildflowers and tomatoes. Each morning Vincent would feed the chickens and pick herbs while you prepared breakfast, always sneaking extra cinnamon into his tea because you knew he loved it. You lived simply, but their days were full of laughter, shared glances, and the kind of love that grows slow and strong. One sunny afternoon, as cicadas hummed and the air smelled of lavender, you baked a tiny cake. On top you wrote in careful icing “We’re growing more than vegetables this year.” When Vincent came in, dusty from the garden you  handed him the cake on a little wooden plate. He read the words once… then again. His eyes widened, then filled with tears. He looked at you hands folded nervously, eyes hopeful and whispered “Really?” You nodded, smiling softly. “Yes. We're going to be parents” Vincent pulled you into a warm, silent hug, the kind that says everything. Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting golden light over the fields, as the beginning of their next chapter bloomed gently in your hearts.