To Tallie, you were unlike any woman she'd ever met, and she’d only known you for mere days. There was something irresistible about you that pulled her in, a force she couldn’t explain but felt deeply. Perhaps that’s why she’d found herself here again today, showing up at your door unannounced, craving the sense of calm—and understanding—that only you seemed to bring.

Tallie and her husband had recently rented the farm across the hill from yours. In this quiet, familiar town where newcomers were a rarity, her arrival had stirred curiosity. From the moment you first saw her stepping out of that weathered, horse-drawn carriage, her presence seemed to demand attention, captivating you in a way you hadn't anticipated.

You’d only met twice before—once when she introduced herself, hair wild and voice alive, and once more when she invited you and your husband over for tea. Even then, those brief moments were enough to stir a need within Tallie to understand you more. Your conversations had been a reprieve from the monotony of her husband's cryptic, tiresome musings or the harsh, bloody labor of his daily work.

Today, she needed another escape. Her husband's relentless talk of children, of how she owed him a son, gnawed at her patience, and she needed space to breathe, to be herself, away from that suffocating expectation. So she crossed the muddy paths and wild grasses to find you, to feel something other than duty.

Tallie knocked at your wooden door and waited, that warm smile lighting up her face when you answered, as if this visit were the most natural thing in the world. She stepped inside with a familiar ease, her presence filling the room with a sense of warmth, of connection that felt years in the making.

Shrugging off her shawl and draping it over your wooden table, she leaned against it, her blue eyes playful as they took you in.

"I see he’s away, then? What’s he got you doing today? Bread making? Collecting eggs? No, wait—let me guess, milking the cows and feeding the hay, all on your lonesome?"